Closing In
by Morning Elegance
Summary: What if Lupin had been unable to teach Harry the Patronus charm, and the job had instead fallen to Snape? How would their relationship have grown as Snape came to care for Harry? Alt 3rd year, Snape mentor/guardianship, slight Dursley neglect/abuse.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- I am not JK Rowling; I do not own any of her characters and I did not come up with the brilliant idea which is Harry Potter.

A/N- This is my first fanfiction on this account, and my first Harry Potter fanfiction, period. I have followed Snape/Harry mentor fics for years, however, and absolutely adore them, so I'm thrilled to be writing my own. This story is essentially going to be an alternate third year for Harry, going off of the idea that Snape was the one who taught Harry to produce a Patronus, and in the process, grew closer to him and discovered things about his home life. I have high hopes for this story, and hope everyone enjoys it!

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><p>Harry Potter slumped down in his chair, absent-mindedly chewing on the end of his quill. In the front of the Defense classroom, Professor Lupin paced back and forth, gesturing enthusiastically while lecturing on the origins of boggarts. The class had finished with the practical portion of their first lesson, which Harry had to admit, was more interesting and exciting than any other Defense class he'd attended at Hogwarts. Loads better than Quirrel's ramblings on the dangers of vampires. And Lockhart…well, Harry supposed anything was a step above Lockhart.<p>

The effects of an actually engaging lesson were evident throughout the class. Even Ron, who normally slept thorough lectures, seemed to be listening attentively to Lupin. And Hermione was scribbling down notes with even more intensity than normal, Harry noted.

Slumping even further in his seat, Harry sighed heavily. Lupin was certainly different than any other professor Harry had encountered. He seemed relatable. Friendly, enthusiastic, and strangely enough for a professor, funny. Still, Harry couldn't help but feel a bit of resentment toward him. Everybody else in class had been encouraged to fight the boggart during the practical lesson. But when Harry had stepped up, excited and anxious to take his turn, Lupin had hurriedly pushed him away and defeated the boggart himself.

Harry frowned in memory. Hermione hadn't gotten to fight the boggart either, he reminded himself. However, she hadn't exactly been shoved aside. Picking at the edge of a piece of parchment, Harry lost himself in thought.

Maybe he hadn't been allowed to fight the boggart because Lupin considered him weak, or cowardly. Harry's gut clenched as he remembered the dementor incident on the train. He'd collapsed, even though nobody else in the compartment, or even the entire train, had done so. Professor Lupin had fought off the dementors while Harry had just lain there pathetically. Perhaps that was why Lupin wouldn't allow him to fight the boggart, Harry mused anxiously. Maybe Lupin had decided he was too weak to fight dark creatures since he couldn't even tolerate the presence of one.

At that moment, Lupin scanned the class and made fleeting, coincidental eye contact with Harry. Remembering his previous contemplations, Harry felt his face turn red. Hurriedly, he busied himself by pretending to take notes.

"…and that wraps up how boggarts came to reside in modern day Europe, as opposed to their original origins in ancient Egypt." Harry tuned into what Lupin was saying, realizing with a wince, that he'd missed the entire lecture.

"It seems our time together is nearly up," the Professor informed his class with a small smile, sitting down at his desk in a rather fatigued manner. "But I'll see you all again this Thursday. For homework, I'd like everyone to read the first chapter in the Defense textbook; it covers boggarts and hinkypunks, which we will be discussing next week. I'd advise you all to take notes," Lupin added with an amused grin. "There just may be a pop quiz in the future. You're dismissed."

Chatter broke out amongst the students as they began to pack up and disperse. Ron, who was sitting next to Harry, turned to him with a wide smile.

"Wasn't that wicked? I don't think we've ever had a lesson like it! I mean, I kicked that spider's _arse_! And when Neville imagined Snape in his Gran's dress-"

"Of course that's all you'd care about, Ronald," Hermione interrupted in a mock-haughty tone, plopping her book bag onto the boys' table. "It was more than an amusing lesson. It was absolutely fascinating! I mean, I read the Defense book already, but it didn't cover half of what Professor Lupin told us about boggarts. I wish I'd gotten the chance to fight it! Oh, I just hope the rest of the class will be this informative!"

Ron scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I'm sure it will be, 'Mione," he muttered with a frown. "Doesn't mean we can't have some fun with it."

Harry smiled slightly, amused at his friends' bantering. He began packing up his bag as the two of them continued to bicker mildly. Suddenly, a new voice joined in the conversation.

"So, did you all enjoy the first lesson?"

Harry jerked his head up hurriedly, eyes wide. Professor Lupin stood next to Hermione and Ron, smiling gently. Nearly all the class had already left, with only a few stragglers still present.

Immediately, eyes bright with genuine enthusiasm, Hermione began to reminisce about how wonderful the lesson had been. Ron chimed in with a few off-hand comments, while Harry sat there awkwardly, mind still fixated on how Lupin had pushed him aside earlier. Watching the Professor closely, Harry startled when Lupin's curiously amber-colored eyes met his own.

"What about you, Harry?" Lupin addressed him kindly. "Did you enjoy the lesson?"

Face burning, Harry nodded rapidly as he grabbed his book bag and stood up in one fluid motion. "Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "It was real good."

Harry's comment sounded stupid even to himself. All he could think of was getting away from the room, and Lupin, as soon as possible. Turning to Ron and Hermione, who both looked at him questioningly, he clenched his teeth.

"We'd better go, or we'll be late to Potions."

With that, Harry spun around and walked as quickly as he could toward the classroom door. The back of his neck prickled uncomfortably as he listened to Hermione hurriedly apologize to Lupin. Exiting the room, Harry groaned lightly as he rounded the hallway corner and leaned against the stone wall. _Stupid_, he chided himself. If Lupin didn't think he was an idiot before, he certainly did now.

Suddenly, footsteps rushed up behind Harry, and in a moment, Ron and Hermione stood beside him.

"What was that, mate?" Ron questioned, adjusting his robes, which had gone askew during his sprint down the hall. "Potions doesn't start for another fifteen minutes, at least."

Harry tried his best to look nonchalant. "I…don't want to be late. You know how Snape gets in a foul mood when we're late."

Ron snorted. "Come on, it's Snape. Is he ever _not_ in a foul mood?"

"I just don't want to be late, ok?"

"Really, Harry, you're being a right pain in the-"

Ron's comment was cut off with a sharp yelp of pain as Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. Rubbing his side, Ron scowled furiously at her.

"Honestly Ron," she huffed. "Can't you tell something's bothering Harry?" Turning toward Harry, Hermione gave him a half concerned, half exasperated look. "What's the matter?"

Harry groaned. Explaining his concerns to Hermione was the last thing he wanted to do. "Nothing's wrong, I swear," he said rather sharply. "Just drop it, Hermione."

Hermione's face fell, and for a moment, Harry felt a bit guilty for snapping at her. However, within seconds, Hermione's expression changed from hurt to haughty. With a loud 'humph!' of indignation, she jerked her head away. "Fine, be that way," she sighed. "I was only trying to help."

Embarrassed, Harry stared intently at his feet. The trio stood in awkward silence for a moment before Hermione glanced at her wristwatch.

"If we don't leave now, however, we _will_ be late to potions."

With that, she turned away and flounced down the hall. Hurriedly, Ron and Harry trailed after her.

"I hate potions," Ron complained to Harry as they made their way down to the dungeons, his annoyance with the other boy already forgotten. "Especially the first lesson of the year. Snape always gives some sort of quiz. Like we should really be expected to memorize the entire bloody book over vacation. And I'll probably get a Dreadful on my summer assignment. Honestly, as if anyone could write four feet on the differences between healing balms and potions._"_

Pushing a lock of bushy hair aside, Hermione glared at Ron in mild annoyance. "Four feet isn't that bad, Ronald, especially considering how large your handwriting is. And you're not expected to memorize the text, but you should at least read it! I found time to read the entire book during _my _vacation!"

"Of course you did, 'Mione. Reading is all you do."

Suddenly, Harry stopped in the middle of the hallway, realization dawning. Heart pounding, he grabbed his book bag off his shoulder and hurriedly began to dig through it.

Hermione frowned. "Forget to do your summer assignment?"

Harry shook his head rapidly, continuing to rifle through his things. "No, I think I left my potions assignment in Lupin's class. I was finishing it up at the beginning of his lecture, and I packed up so hurriedly…."

"Snape's going to _murder_ you, mate," Ron said, sounding nearly amused.

Harry dug for a moment more, then sighed and slung his bag back over his shoulder. "I'm doomed," he agreed without hesitation. Snape loathed missing work. And he loathed Harry. Bad combination; and Harry doubted Snape would listen to any sort of explanation.

Even Hermione, still irritated with Harry, and who normally would've chided him for his carelessness, seemed to understand the severity of the situation. "Think you can run and get it in time?" she questioned.

Harry bit his lip and glanced at his watch. "Probably not, but it's not like I have much of a choice. Maybe I can get a note from Lupin, or something."

Hermione nodded briskly. "We'd best head off though. Sorry we can't wait, but…"

Harry nodded. "Go on ahead—I'll hurry." With that, Harry turned around and began jogging down the hallway, heading back up towards the Defense classroom. If it had been any other essay he'd forgotten, he wouldn't have even bothered returning to Lupin's room with such little time left between classes. He'd have just explained what had happened to the appropriate professor and risked getting scolded a bit. Better than facing Lupin to retrieve it after the way he'd had left the Defense classroom. Now Lupin was probably going to consider Harry careless as well as cowardly.

Harry jogged up a staircase leading to the third floor, where the Defense classroom resided at. Still, he thought to himself, he had some sense of self preservation. Choosing between facing scorn from Lupin or Snape, he'd choose Lupin in a heartbeat, bad opinions and all. Panting slightly from his sprint up, Harry slowed his jogging as he reached the Defense classroom. The door was shut, and uncertain as to whether or not Lupin was even in his room, Harry hesitated to enter. Swallowing heavily, Harry reached up to knock, but before his hand could even touch the wooden door, a voice called out from within the room.

"Come right in!"

Jumping slightly in surprise, Harry wiped his palms on his trousers before pushing the door open. The classroom was empty except for Lupin, who was sitting at his desk doing some sort of paperwork.

"Hello Harry," Lupin addressed him, setting down his quill. "What can I do for you?"

Still hanging in the door frame, Harry quickly glanced towards the table he'd sat at during class, and felt his stomach drop when he saw his essay wasn't there.

"Err…well, I reckon I left my Potions essay in here," Harry began, shuffling his feet nervously. "But I could be wrong. Sorry. I didn't mean to forget it or anything, and I don't want to bother you. But if I don't find it, Snape will kill me."

Lupin smiled kindly. "_Professor_ Snape, Harry. And you're no bother at all."

Harry shrugged awkwardly, not knowing how to respond to that.

"And luckily," Lupin continued, "I happened to find your essay while cleaning up after class." Shuffling through some items on his desk, Lupin held up Harry's essay with a triumphant grin. "It seems as though you won't have to face Professor Snape's famed wrath today."

Harry managed a crooked smile at that, and felt his nerves lessen slightly. Really, he thought to himself. Lupin seemed nice enough. Even if the Professor thought Harry was weak, shouldn't he be working to disprove that, instead of running out of classrooms like a coward? What kind of Gryffindor was he?

Feeling rather embarrassed with himself, Harry quickly walked up to Lupin's desk and accepted the offered parchment.

"Thanks," he murmured, shoving the essay into his bag.

"You're quite welcome," Lupin replied mildly. However, he studied Harry's face with an intensity that made Harry look downward to avoid his gaze.

"I'd best head off to Potions, sir," Harry said after a moment of heavy silence. "Thanks for finding my essay," he added with a hesitant grin. "You're right; I wouldn't want to face Professor Snape without it. He doesn't care for me much as is."

Lupin nodded slowly at this. "Of course, of course," he murmured, almost to himself. "Well, I'll see you again soon Harry. Don't forget the assignment for our next lesson."

"I won't, Professor," Harry promised. "Thanks again." Turning to leave the room, he hesitated for a moment, remembering his previous thoughts about the Professor. Now, his concerns seemed rather silly; Lupin didn't seem angry or disappointed in him in the least. Rather, the Professor acted friendly, and seemed eager to help. Frowning slightly, Harry paused at the door to the classroom, questions storming through his head.

Curiosity and confusion won over conflict. Working up his courage, Harry turned back around. "Professor Lupin," he spat out quickly, before he could change his mind. "Do you mind if I ask you a quick question?"

The Professor looked up from his papers rather sharply, but after a moment, smiled gently. "Not at all," he replied.

Harry swallowed thickly. "Well…I was just wondering…why you didn't let me fight the boggart in class today. I mean, I don't really care or anything, but everyone else got to, and I know I could have done it if you'd let me, and I don't mean to sound bratty or anything but I just thought maybe-"

"Harry," Lupin cut him off, his eyes surprised. "Calm down a moment."

Harry flushed, realizing he'd been rambling. "I just…I thought maybe you thought I couldn't do it or something. That I was too weak." Looking down at the floor, he avoided eye contact with the Professor.

Setting his quill down on his desk, Lupin sighed heavily. "I apologize if I gave you the wrong idea, Harry," he said gently. "I don't think you're weak at all—quite the contrary. I'm certain you could have fought the boggart off, but I didn't want the class in a panic if they saw Lord Voldemort suddenly appear."

Harry jerked his head up, eyes wide, as everything suddenly made sense. "Oh," he said softly. "I get it. I didn't even think of Voldemort though. I reckon my boggart would have been a dementor."

"Ah," replied Lupin, eyes widening with understanding. "I see. Dementors are indeed frightening creatures. After the incident with them on the Express, I can imagine they would be quite fearful to you."

Harry nodded rapidly, feeling as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Yeah, that's why I was confused when you wouldn't let me fight the boggart. I thought maybe because I couldn't stand the dementor on the train, you didn't want me to fight the boggart of it either."

Lupin closed his eyes. "I apologize, Harry. Giving you that idea was not my intention."

Opening his eyes, Lupin regarded Harry seriously. "And another thing, Harry. You should know that dementors are amongst the darkest of creatures in our world; they feed off of people's fears and unhappy memories. Because of this, those of us who have experienced and seen true horrors in the past are more affected than others. You are not weak, Harry. I promise you."

Harry swallowed harshly, remembering how hopeless he'd felt when the dementor was near him. How cold and frightened he'd been, with that woman's screams and pleas echoing through his head…

"Is…is there a way to fight off dementors, Professor?" Harry asked hesitantly. "I know you did on the train, when that one came into our compartment. Ron and Hermione told me. Do you think you could maybe teach me to fight them too?"

Lupin studied Harry intently, eyes filled with an emotion Harry couldn't quite place.

"I…don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry," Lupin answered weakly. "Quite the contrary, in fact."

"Please, Professor?" Harry pleaded. "I have to know how to fight them off, how to defend myself. I can't be affected like that again, I just…I can't." Harry looked down at the ground, blinking rapidly.

"Harry, fighting off a dementor…it's highly advanced magic," Lupin answered gently. "It's not something we normally teach at Hogwarts, let alone to a third year like yourself."

"I know," Harry replied. "But I have to try." Harry lifted his head up, looking Lupin directly in the eyes. "Please?"

Lupin gazed at Harry a moment longer before sighing heavily. "I'll talk with Dumbledore about it, Harry," he replied. "And see what he thinks; you would need the headmaster's permission, anyway, before learning such magic."

Harry grinned widely, unable to help himself. "Thank you sir!" he exclaimed, feeling nearly giddy with relief. He would learn to fight off the dementors, he promised himself. He wasn't weak.

Lupin smiled back. "You're quite welcome. Now, shall I write you a pass to Potions? I don't suppose Professor Snape would appreciate you arriving twenty minutes late to class without one."

Harry laughed, nodding happily. "I don't think he'd appreciate it at all, sir."

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><p>Remus Lupin stood in front of the gargoyle which guarded the Headmaster's office. "Sugar Quills," he addressed the gargoyle, who upon hearing the password, slid aside to reveal a set of spiral stairs. With a slight grimace, Remus began making his way up the staircase, dreading the conversation to come. He knew where this conversation would lead, and what revelations would result from it. But he had promised Harry. And he of all people could understand the desire to protect oneself against the despair the dementors brought.<p>

Reaching the office door, Remus hesitated slightly before bringing his hand up to knock.

"Come in!" a voice called from within.

Swallowing harshly, Remus opened the door. Albus sat behind his desk, sipping a cup of tea.

"Ah, Remus!" he exclaimed happily. "Come sit down! Would you like anything to drink— tea, or perhaps pumpkin juice? How was your first day of classes? No problems, I take it?"

Smiling at the Headmaster's chattiness, Remus took the offered seat. "Nothing to drink, thank you," he replied. "And as for my classes, they all went very well. No problems, though there is something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Of course, my boy," the Headmaster replied, eyes twinkling, as he took another sip of tea.

Remus drummed his fingers on the desktop nervously. "Well, after class today, I had a discussion with Harry. He asked me if I'd teach him how to defend himself against dementors."

Albus' blue eyes turned serious. "Ah yes," he murmured, setting down his cup. "I heard about Harry's run-in with the dementors on the Express, the poor boy. I do wish the dementors' presence here at Hogwarts were unnecessary, but with the Ministry insisting…"

"Yes, of course," Remus replied reassuringly. "No one blames you, Albus. We all understand the necessity."

The Headmaster nodded, though his eyes remained solemn.

"I believe it's important that Harry learn to defend himself from the dementors, Albus," Remus continued. "Not because he's in danger from their presence here; I know you'd never allow that to occur. But with his history, with what he's experienced in his past, they affect him quite severely; enough so that his boggart is actually a dementor. I believe teaching him to produce a Patronus would greatly ease his tension."

"Yes, I quite agree," Albus replied with a sigh. "Of course. You have my permission to teach Harry."

A knot formed in Remus' gut. "That's the thing, Albus. I myself am unable to teach Harry to produce a Patronus."

Albus frowned slightly. "That does pose a slight problem," he remarked. "But I do understand. With your transformations and your recoveries from them, it would be quite difficult for you to take on extra lessons."

Remus clenched his fists. His condition was definitely cause enough to excuse him from these lessons, but he couldn't live with the guilt if he allowed Albus to believe that were the true reason.

"Actually, Albus, that's not the reason behind my unavailability." With a shaky breath, Remus continued. "I am unable to produce a Patronus."

The Headmaster glanced up from his tea sharply, looking about as startled as Remus had ever seen him. "What do you mean, Remus?" he questioned gently. "I understand you were the one who fought off the dementor on the Express."

Clenching his teeth, Remus sighed heavily. "I should rephrase. I am unable to produce a Patronus without great effort. On the Express, there was only one dementor, and I had the motivation to save Harry. It took a great deal out of me to even produce _that_ Patronus, incorporeal as it was."

Dumbledore studied Remus, his eyes piercing. "I know in the past, Remus, you were quite adept at producing a Patronus. What has changed?"

It took all of Remus' strength to continue. "Since…since James and Lily died, and Sirius…well, since then, I've been unable to produce a Patronus."

"I'm so sorry for your pain, Remus," Albus murmured softly.

Remus cleared his throat harshly. "It's of little importance," he replied thickly. "The point of the matter is, I am unable to teach Harry, and I know how important it is to him to learn this. Is there any chance you could teach him, instead of me? Or know of someone who could?"

The twinkle reappeared in Dumbledore's eyes as he smiled at Remus. "Not to worry, my boy," he reassured him gently. "I know of just the person."

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><p>Hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter! Snape has yet to make his grand appearance, but he will in the next chapter- I promise!<p>

Please, please review? They make my day, and provide great motivation to write faster. ;D


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer- I am not JK Rowling; I do not own any of her characters and I did not come up with the brilliant idea which is Harry Potter.

A/N- Thank you so much to everyone for the great response to the first chapter! I'm so glad everyone enjoyed it, even though it was mostly background plot without any Snape. Special thanks to everyone who reviewed! I truly appreciate every one of them. Here's the second chapter- please enjoy!

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><p>Severus Snape was having a bad day. Not to say that this was uncommon in the least; nearly all his days were bad ones. Today, though, was particularly horrible. The day had begun with, of all things, a staff meeting— the first of the year. Snape loathed staff meetings. If it were up to him, he'd have ended the ridiculous notion long ago. However, he was still made to suffer through them at Albus' firm insistence that his presence was required. Two hours of Sprout and Hooch gossiping to each other from either side of him was enough to ruin Snape's day already. Oh, but it hadn't ended there.<p>

Half of his NEWT class had failed their first exam of the year (dunderheads, the lot of them), and he'd had to send two second year Hufflepuffs to Poppy after they managed to explode their Somnium potion, burning themselves in the process. And then, just when he'd thought things couldn't possibly get worse, he had received a missive from Albus, requesting his presence for lunch.

That, at the time, had seemed normal enough. Not necessarily a bad thing. Albus often asked Snape to join him in his office for lunch, as he did with many professors. Usually, it was a pleasant enough experience. This time, however, seemed to be the exception. After hearing Albus' request, Snape doubted he'd ever agree to dine with him again.

"You want me to do _what_?" Snape snapped angrily, barley keeping his temper in check.

The headmaster smiled, eyes twinkling in that uncanny, impish manner. "I'd like you to teach Harry to produce a Patronus," he repeated, voice thick with concealed amusement.

Snape felt his jaw twitch. "And why can't that bloody wolf teach him? If I recall correctly, _he_ is the Defense teacher, not me."

"Remus is indisposed, I'm afraid."

"Of course he is."

"Come now, Severus," Albus said imploringly. "You are quite capable of producing a Patronus, I'm well aware."

"As are you, Albus," Snape retorted sharply. "I know very well that you're perfectly capable of teaching the boy yourself."

"Ah, Severus. As Headmaster, I find myself simply overwhelmed with obligations," Dumbledore sighed softly. "Not to mention that I would probably spend more time chatting with young Harry than I would teaching him! You are the best man for the job."

"No. I absolutely refuse."

The Headmaster sighed wearily. "Severus, there are select few professors at this school capable of producing any sort of Patronus, and even less with skill enough to teach a student, let alone a third year. Harry needs someone capable, who understands and can demonstrate the magic required to produce a Patronus. Otherwise, I fear it will be too difficult for him to learn."

Snape pursed his lips, anger toward Albus throbbing through every inch of him. "Why in Merlin's name would Potter even need to learn to cast a Patronus?" he finally spat out, desperate for an excuse. "He's a third year, as you said, and his magic is mediocre at best. Teaching the boy would be a waste of both time and effort."

"Harry is quite affected by the dementors, Severus," Albus murmured. "I'm sure you've heard about his collapse on the Express. He came to Remus and asked if he could be taught some sort of defense against them. Teaching him this will ease his fears, and could prove very useful in the years to come."

The Headmaster sat in silence for a few moments, gazing out a window across his desk before looking Snape directly in the eyes. "You talk as if you know Harry so well, Severus, and yet in many ways, you're so very wrong about him."

Snape clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms so hard, they nearly drew blood. "I know him well enough to know that he's conceited, arrogant, and disrespectful, just like his father was. I've no desire to teach him."

"Really, Severus. Refusing to teach a child due to a long forgotten grudge. What would Lily say if she knew?"

Snape felt his chest constrict painfully, and it was only with long practiced self-control that he managed to restrain from jumping from his seat to strangle Albus.

"I've no idea what Lily would think, and I don't particularly care," Snape lied smoothly, though he couldn't completely conceal the pain in his voice at his next words. "She's dead."

Amazing, how the old man's eyes could hold such anger and sympathy at the same time.

After another long moment of silence, Albus again spoke. "Please, Severus?"

Clenching his teeth, Snape let out a long breath through his nose. "Fine," he finally replied. "You win. I will teach the boy. But Albus, I won't coddle him as you would, and I will train him as I see fit."

"Of course, Severus," Albus chuckled, eyes twinkling madly. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

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><p>"Where do you suppose Snape is at?" Ron questioned Harry, staring intently at the front of the Potions classroom, as if Snape would suddenly pop out from behind a cabinet. "He's never late to class."<p>

Harry shrugged, indifferent. Potions was the last place he wanted to be anyway. A few minutes less of class wasn't anything he was going to complain about, strange as it was.

The rest of the class seemed to share Harry's view of things. Most students were wandering about the room or sitting on tables, talking to each other amiably.

Suddenly, the classroom door flew open. All chatter stopped instantly as Snape entered, his face murderous as he took in the state of his classroom.

"Sit. Down." Snape growled through his teeth. Hurriedly and silently, students scattered about the room as they scrambled to take their seats.

Snape waited until the class was seated, sneered once more, and then strode to the front of the room. "Today," he drawled after a moment, "We will be brewing Shrinking Solution. This draught is highly reactive, so I suggest you all use caution." Snape gave Neville a pointed look at this. "Instructions are on the board. Begin."

Harry let out a breath. He had actually read this chapter. After receiving such terrible marks in Potions the last two years, Harry had decided to try harder this year. Or, at least actually read the material. That'd be a start, anyhow. Turning to Ron, he gave him a small grin. "I'll get the flobberworm puss measured and boiling if you want to start chopping the daisy roots."

Ron smiled widely, obviously relived at getting the less messy of the two jobs. "Sounds good," he replied, grabbing his knife eagerly.

After lighting his cauldron, Harry began measuring flobberworm puss into a vial, careful not to spill any on his hands. Lowering his head to check the reading, Harry startled when a voice spoke from directly behind him.

"Too much puss, Potter. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

Harry's gut clenched. With a sneer, Snape walked away, and within moments, had begun to berate Neville on his chopping of the daisy roots.

"Blimey," Ron whispered, eyes wide. "Twenty points? You haven't even added the puss yet! What a git!"

Harry bit his lip. "Wonder if he's still angry about last class," he muttered, remembering how furious Snape had been when Harry had arrived late from talking with Lupin. It certainly wasn't unlike Snape to hold a grudge.

Ron grunted in agreement before going back to chopping roots. "Could be," he concurred.

Harry sighed. After double checking the puss measurement, he added it to the cauldron to let it boil. Examining the board for further instruction, Harry began to skin his frog spleen.

A few minutes passed before Snape made his second rounds to scrutinize the Gryffindors' potions. Pausing at Harry's cauldron, Snape gazed at the solution for a moment before tutting softly.

"Too orange, Potter. After adding daisy roots, the solution should be yellow in color. Twenty more points."

"But sir!" Harry exclaimed before he could stop himself. Snape's eyes snapped to his face and Harry felt himself flushing. "We…we haven't even added our roots yet, sir," he stammered.

Snape's eyebrows raised slightly. "Indeed. Ten more points for arguing with a professor."

Harry snapped his mouth shut to stop himself from saying anything else. With shaded eyes, Snape studied him a moment longer before striding away.

On Harry's other side, Ron had stopped chopping the daisy roots and was staring at Snape's back, mouth agape. "Fifty…fifty points," he said weakly. "Snape's taken fifty points from you, for doing _nothing_!"

Well, Harry mused, Snape was definitely sore about something. Generally, he was unfair in his taking of points from Gryffindor, especially when it came to Harry. But he was never this blatant about doing it. Usually, he had more tact that that.

"Just…let's just finish this quickly," Harry murmured. "Before he can take any more points."

Ron nodded vigorously, picking up his cutting board and pushing in his chopped roots without hesitation. "Sounds good, mate."

The rest of class passed without incident, and by the end, Harry and Ron had managed to produce a Shrinking Solution which, in Harry's opinion, looked exactly like the book described it. A light yellow color, with a thick consistency. Harry exhaled heavily before beginning to bottle and label the potion. Snape would probably still find fault with it, but at least Harry knew he'd done well.

"Can you bring up our samples?" Harry asked Ron in a whisper. "If I do it, Snape will probably just take more points."

"Sure," Ron agreed, grabbing the vials and walking toward the front of the room. Setting them down on Snape's desk, the Professor looked up from his work, sneered slightly, but said nothing.

Harry rubbed his forehead tiredly as he began to tidy up the station. Yes; Snape was definitely in a foul mood.

After everyone had turned in their samples and cleared their stations, Snape paused from his work and glanced around the classroom. "Dismissed," he spat out after a moment. Hastily, the class began to pack up and leave. Nobody loitered around after a Potions class.

Slinging his book bag over his shoulder, Harry turned to Hermione, who had just appeared from her own station. Before he could say anything, however, Snape's voice called out from the front of the room.

"Potter!"

Harry's mouth went dry. Turning around slowly, he was met by Snape's steady gaze. "Yes, Professor?" he asked, keeping his tone as civil as possible.

"You will remain after class," Snape replied, setting down his quill. "I have something to discuss with you."

Dread settled heavily in Harry's stomach. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he turned back to Ron and Hermione. "You two go on," he muttered softly. "Let McGonagall know where I am, alright?"

"Of course," Hermione murmured, her eyes wide as she looked over Harry's shoulder at Snape. "We'll….we'll see you soon."

Harry gave a curt nod in response. Quickly, Ron and Hermione left the classroom, leaving only Harry and Snape behind.

Standing rather awkwardly at his desk, Harry waited anxiously as Snape finished scribbling something down on a sheet of parchment. What could Snape possibly want to discuss with him? It wasn't like they'd had enough classes yet this year to have a discussion about his work or behavior, or anything like that.

Looking up from his papers, Snape barked. "Potter, don't dawdle like an idiot. Come here!"

Swallowing thickly, Harry made his way to the front of the classroom and stood uncomfortably in front of the Professor's desk. A minute passed, and Harry was certain Snape was making him wait on purpose, prolonging the tension Harry felt. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Snape pushed the parchment aside.

Looking up at Harry, Snape's black eyes were cool and emotionless. "You will accompany me to the Headmaster's office," Snape said, regarding Harry with slight disdain. "There is something he must discuss with us."

"Yes sir," Harry replied mildly. Inside, however, his mind reeled with confusion. Dumbledore? What on earth could he want with him and Snape?

Snape stood up from his seat. Walking over to the fireplace in the far corner of the room, Snape turned to Harry. "I assume you've traveled by floo before, Potter?"

"Yes sir."

Snape nodded. "Very well." Reaching into a jar on top of the mantle, he withdrew a handful of floo powder. "Come, Mr. Potter," he commanded.

Hurriedly, Harry walked toward Snape, heart pounding wildly.

"Hold out your hand."

Harry complied, and quickly, some floo powder was deposited there, Snape's hand never making contact with his own.

Without another word, Snape turned sharply toward the fireplace. Throwing in his own handful, he called out, "Professor Dumbledore's office," stepped into the fireplace, and vanished.

Harry waited a moment before shifting his book bag more securely around his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he tossed the powder into the fireplace. "Professor Dumbledore's office!" he called out, stepping quickly into the grate. Instantly, the familiar tug of the floo surrounded him, and before he could draw another breath, Harry felt himself whirling, twisting, as fire engulfed him.

As suddenly as it began, it was over. Harry was spat out of another fireplace, his head reeling. He managed to catch himself before he could fall to his knees, and sputtering slightly, he adjusted his glasses, which had gone askew during the trip.

Brushing soot off his robes, Harry looked up. Dumbledore and Snape were already seated at the Headmaster's desk, a pot of tea between the two of them. Snape didn't look as if he'd flooed at all. Seeming completely unaffected, robes immaculate, he took a sip of tea. Dumbledore looked up from his own cup and smiled brightly.

"Ah, Harry! Do sit down!" the headmaster exclaimed happily. "Would you care for some tea, my boy?"

Harry sat down in the offered chair. "Um, yeah, sure," he answered somewhat awkwardly, still unsure what he was even doing there. However, before he could make a move to pour himself a cup, a full one appeared in front of him. Jumping slightly, Harry quickly grabbed the cup, glad to give his hands something to hold. "Thanks," he murmured, taking a long sip.

Dumbledore smiled softly. "Of course," he replied.

After a moment of silence, Harry spoke. "Um… Professor Snape said there was something you wanted to discuss? Sir?" he questioned ineloquently, gripping his teacup firmly.

Snape rolled his eyes and snorted softly, but Dumbledore merely nodded, eyes bright. "Yes, Harry, there is," he answered, setting down his cup. Folding his hands under his chin, Dumbledore looked Harry in the eyes. "Professor Lupin came to talk with me the other day, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "He told me of your desire to learn to defend yourself from the dementors."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "Yeah," he replied, feeling rather embarrassed. "He… he said he'd talk to you about it."

"Indeed he did. And I quite agree with his own sentiments. I believe learning to defend yourself against dementors—that is, to say, to learn to cast a Patronus—is a marvelous idea."

Harry nodded swiftly, relief flooding through him. A Patronus. That must have been what Ron and Hermione had described; that great, silver, foggy thing.

With a small smile, Dumbledore continued. "However, I must inform you that Professor Lupin is unable to take on extra lessons to teach you to cast a Patronus, Harry."

Dumbledore must have seen Harry's face fall, because quickly, he began uttering reassurances.

"Not to worry, my boy! That's not to say that you won't be taught defense against the dementors. I've managed to find another professor who is quite willing to take on the job."

Snape snorted again at that. "I'd hardly call myself willing, Albus," he scoffed, glancing sharply at Harry.

Eyes widening rapidly, Harry felt his gut clench horribly as he put two and two together. "No!" He spat out, unable to help himself.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Harry, my boy," he soothed gently, "Professor Snape here is an excellent teacher, and quite adept at producing a Patronus. He will be able to teach you to produce one as well, I'm quite sure."

"But, he… he hates me! If Professor Lupin can't teach me, then why can't you, sir?" Harry questioned desperately.

The Headmaster sighed rather wearily. "Ah… I'm afraid my own Patronus is rather weak, Harry. Professor Snape is more adapt than myself, and I'm certain he'll be able to better teach you."

Harry clenched his teeth, glancing desperately at Snape. Certainly he'd protest. Snape would never agree to something like this.

Snape met his eyes briefly before looking sharply away. "Believe me, Potter," he muttered rather bitterly. "I'm no happier with this arrangement than you are." Snape pursed his lips, and his next words sounded rather pained. "However, the Headmaster is right. I am able to teach you, and the less fuss is made about these lessons, the quicker they'll be over."

Harry frowned. That was surprisingly diplomatic for Snape. With a heavy sigh, he looked back at Dumbledore and gave a short nod. "Alright," he agreed briskly. "But he has to be civil to me," Harry added, with a pointed look at Snape.

"You're in no position to be making demands, Potter."

"Boys," the Headmaster interrupted, holding up a hand, halting the argument before it could progress. Smiling softly at Harry, Dumbledore continued. "I'm certain Professor Snape will be a fine teacher."

Harry wanted to reply that he wasn't certain of that at all, but manage to hold his tongue.

Dumbledore grinned, picking up his cup of tea to take a sip. "It's good you asked for these lessons, Harry," he added. "It could be of great use to you in the future. It's important that you learn to defend yourself."

Harry frowned slightly, sensing hidden meaning behind those words. "Because of Black, you mean, Professor?" he questioned, trying to keep his tone casual.

Dumbledore glanced at Harry sharply, his gaze piercing. When he replied, however, his voice was quite mild. "Yes, Harry. It's vital that all our students learn proper defense."

After another moment, Dumbledore set down his cup and smiled brightly. "Well my boys, I'm sorry to say that I have business to attend to, as I'm certain the two of you do as well."

Snape stood up rather stiffly, nodding curtly at Dumbledore. "Come, Potter," he spat out, making his way toward the office door.

Dumbledore addressed Harry once more as he stood up. "Should you care to talk sometime, Harry, about anything at all, do feel free to come to my office. My door is always open."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Professor," he murmured, before quickly following Snape from the office. Snape flew down the staircase, and Harry found himself nearly tripping to keep up. When they'd reached the bottom and the gargoyle had shut behind them, Snape swiftly rounded on Harry.

"I'll have you know, Potter, that I'm not obligated to give you these lessons at all. Never the less, I am doing so. So I expect you to be grateful and courteous. I will not have you wasting my time. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied, his voice tight.

Snape nodded briskly. "Our lessons will be every weeknight, at 7 o clock in my office. We will begin tomorrow night. Do not be late."

"But professor, every night?" Harry exclaimed in surprise. "I have homework and quidditch…"

Snape smiled rather nastily. "Well then, Mr. Potter, you will simply have to accommodate."

With that, Snape turned and strode away, his robes trailing ominously behind him.

Abruptly, Harry wished he hadn't asked for lessons at all.

* * *

><p>Chapter 3 is coming soon, which will include the first lesson. Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!<p>

Please, please take a moment to review! I appreciate them so much, and they really do make my day.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer- I am not JK Rowling; I do not own any of her characters and I did not come up with the brilliant idea which is Harry Potter.

A/N- Thanks so much to everyone who has favorited and reviewed this story! It means so much to me when people leave feedback and tell me how much they enjoy my story, and it really provides great encouragement and inspiration. I apologize for taking longer on this update, but I've been super busy most of the week packing up all my things. I start college in three days, and have been busy getting ready to move in! Without further ado, here is chapter three! Please enjoy!

* * *

><p>"Snape's doing <em>what<em>?"

Harry flinched slightly at the loudness of Ron's voice. "Giving me extra lessons to teach me to cast a Patronus," he muttered quietly, glancing around the common room to see if anyone had noticed Ron's outburst.

"Well, what the bloody hell is a Patronus anyway? And why _Snape_, of all people?"

"Quiet down, Ronald!" hissed Hermione, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "Do you think Harry wants the entire Gryffindor house knowing his business?"

Ron scowled at Hermione, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm just surprised is all," he sulked, though he did lower his voice.

Harry exhaled heavily, feeling his head throbbing. Today had been rotten enough already, and getting into a drawn out discussion about these lessons with Ron was the last thing he wanted to do. "A Patronus is something that fights off dementors," Harry answered shortly. "It's the spell Lupin used on the Express."

"It's a spirit guardian," Hermione chimed in with a slight gasp. At Ron's confused look, she continued. "Positive energy that takes the form of the caster's spiritual animal when fully corporeal! Oh, Harry, that's really advanced magic!"

Harry stared. "How do you know all that about Patronuses?" he finally asked.

Hermione flushed slightly. "I read about it," she admitted, sounding rather defensive. "I was curious after Lupin defeated the Dementor on the Express—though he just cast the incorporeal form. It's much more difficult to cast a corporeal one."

Harry nodded slightly, slouching back into the couch he was sitting on.

Ron merely sat there, mouth gaping. "That still doesn't answer why Snape's the one teaching you, Harry!" he finally added, blue eyes wide. "Why would you want him to give you lessons? He took fifty points from you today, remember?"

Harry clenched his fists. "It's not like I asked for Snape to teach me, Ron!" He bit out, highly annoyed with the other boy. "I didn't have much of a choice in the matter! I wanted Lupin to teach me, but Dumbledore said he couldn't!"

"Dumbledore? What in Merlin's name does he have to do with this?"

"He's the one who gave permission for me to get these lessons!" Harry replied, voice steadily rising to a yell. "And he's the one who said that Snape had to teach me!"

"Harry, shh!" Hermione whispered hastily, with a rather pointed look over his shoulder.

Twisting his head to look behind him, Harry was met with stunned stares from a nearby table of first years who were looking at him as if he were nutters. Feeling himself turning red, Harry hurriedly spun back around.

After a moment, Ron cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "I wasn't blaming you or anything, mate," he murmured, looking rather embarrassed with himself. "It's just…I mean…"

"I know," Harry cut in with a sigh. "Sorry I got angry. It's just been a long day, you know?"

Ron nodded sympathetically.

Closing his eyes, Harry continued, feeling as if he rather owed his friends an explanation. "I asked Lupin to teach me first, but Dumbledore said Lupin couldn't. I dunno why, but Dumbledore said Snape would give me lessons instead."

"But Harry," Hermione replied softly after a moment. "Why do you need to learn to cast a Patronus anyhow?"

"I, well…" Harry hesitated, swallowing against the lump in his throat. "After I collapsed on the Express…I just thought maybe I should learn to defend myself, you know. In case it happens again, or something."

Ron nodded in understanding, but Hermione just studied Harry intently. Harry avoided her gaze, sensing she knew that he hadn't told the full truth. However, after a moment, Hermione merely nodded. "That's a good idea, Harry," she agreed gently. "Especially since they affect you so."

Harry didn't respond, instead turning to stare at the fireplace.

"Well," Hermione said finally. "These lessons will be good for you. And if Dumbledore says so, I suppose having Snape as a teacher is for the best."

Ron stared incredulously at Hermione, but after she glared at him, he managed to smooth his features. "Yeah," he murmured, staring at his feet. "Just be careful, Harry. Who knows what that git might do."

Harry felt his stomach clench. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "Yeah, I will."

* * *

><p>The next day seemed to pass in a blur. All Harry could think about was his upcoming lesson with Snape, and how much he was dreading it. He found it rather difficult to focus on anything else at all—especially class. Even though Hermione had elbowed him at least three times in Charms to try to get him to focus, he'd still managed to miss Flitwick's question, losing five points for Gryffindor in the process.<p>

By the time dinner came around, Harry felt rather ill and couldn't bring himself to eat any of his food. With his chin cupped in his hand, he half-heartedly poked his fork at his mashed potatoes, moving them about his plate.

Noticing what Harry was doing, Hermione looked up from her own meal. "Harry," she chided gently. "You have to eat something."

Sometimes, Harry thought to himself, Hermione was just too observant for her own good. Making a face, Harry speared a green bean and shoved it in his mouth. "Better?" he questioned Hermione, his voice coming out harsher than he'd intended.

Hermione merely pursed her lips and nodded.

Ron, sitting across from Harry, seemed to be having no trouble eating his dinner. Already on his second helping, mouth full of gravy and potatoes, he glanced up at Harry. "C'mn, mate. It won be dat bad."

Harry gave Ron an exasperated look. Swallowing his mouthful, Ron grinned sheepishly. "Well, maybe it will be."

Harry sighed, putting down his fork. "Thanks for the encouragement," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Hermione frowned, her brown eyes deep with concern. "Harry," she said softly. "I know Snape's not the nicest of people, but he did agree to give you these lessons. That has to count for something, right?"

"Not really."

Hermione huffed. "Well, Harry, you did ask for these lessons, and they will be helpful. I certainly wish _I_ was learning this type of magic. You'll just have to make the most of the situation."

"Easy for you to say, 'Mione," Ron said as he shoved another spoonful into his mouth. "S'not like you're going to have to deal with Snape every night. I mean, just look him," he added, nodding toward the front of the great hall.

Collectively, the trio turned to observe the head table. Snape, seated between Dumbledore and McGonagall, was scowling furiously at his plate. As Dumbledore attempted to engage Snape in conversation, the other man snapped his head up, face murderous, as he bared his teeth and bit out something before returning to glaring downward.

Harry quickly turned back to his own plate, feeling about as miserable as he'd ever felt.

A heavy silence fell over the trio. "Well," Ron said after a moment, a slow grin spreading across his face. "If Snape kills you, can I have your Nimbus?"

Ron's comment—an obvious attempt to ease the tension of the situation—seemed to do the trick. Hermione snorted mildly before giving Ron a good-natured shove in the side. For the first time that day, Harry felt his apprehension lessen. He smiled at his friends, feeling glad that some things would never change.

* * *

><p>Harry glanced at his wristwatch for the third time in less than a minute. Still five to seven. Harry exhaled heavily as he shoved his sleeve back over his watch. He had left the Gryffindor common room over fifteen minutes ago, his fear of arriving late overpowering his common sense, since he knew it was less than a ten minute walk to the dungeons. He now stood awkwardly in front of the door to Snape's office—a great, black, wooden door that looked about as menacing as Snape. Harry had become rather familiar with the office over the past three years, as it was where Snape held many of his detentions when they involved lines or written work.<p>

Having already loitered for ten minutes, Harry figured Snape probably wouldn't mind if he was a minute or two early. Reaching his hand up to knock, Harry hesitated briefly before rapping on the door.

After a long moment, Snape's voice called out from within the room.

"Enter."

Squaring his shoulders, Harry pushed open the door. Snape was sitting in a wooden chair in the far corner of his office, reading some large tome. Upon Harry's entrance, he looked up from his book, favoring Harry with a sneer. "Late as usual, Potter," Snape droned before snapping the book shut.

Harry bit his lip, managing to keep from responding.

Snape stood fluidly, and after placing the book on his desk, turned to face Harry. "Well, boy, don't just stand there," Snape spat out after a moment. "Take off your robes and shut the door."

Harry scowled, but did as Snape requested.

The professor regarded Harry with hooded eyes. "Well, Potter," he said finally, crossing his arms across his chest. "Here we are. Before we begin, I'd like to set a few...boundaries."

Harry nodded, keeping his face purposefully blank.

"I expect you to arrive punctually for our lessons," Snape continued. "And know that I will not accept any of your usual backtalk or laziness. Casting a Patronus is not easy, and learning to do so will take discipline and hard work—a concept quite foreign to you, I'm sure," Snape added nastily. "But a necessary concept, nonetheless. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied, clenching his fists.

Snape nodded curtly. "Let us begin. It is possible to cast a Patronus without the presence of a dementor, but using one will produce much better results, as you will become accustomed to casting whilst under attack." Snape moved to his desk and picked up a small, black box that was sitting there. "Now," he continued. "Seeing as though we can't use an actual Patronus, since I'm sure you'd enjoy keeping your soul intact, we will use a boggart instead. I'm told that your boggart takes the form of a dementor. Correct?"

Harry eyed the box warily. "Well," he hesitated. "I think it would. I mean, I never actually had the chance to fight it in Defense."

Snape closed his eyes. "Merlin forbid," he murmured, almost to himself. After a moment, he opened his eyes. "Well, Potter," he sighed. "We will just have to hope that you are correct."

Harry felt himself flushing. "Yes sir," he murmured.

"Take out your wand, Mr. Potter," Snape ordered after a moment, withdrawing his own wand of dark, polished wood.

Harry hurried to comply, yanking his wand from his trouser pocket.

"The incantation for casting a Patronus is as follows. Expecto Patronum," the professor enunciated slowly. "Repeat."

"Expecto Patronum," Harry complied, gripping his wand firmly while staring at the box in Snape's hands. "Expecto Patronum."

Snape bent down, setting the box in the center of the office floor, a couple yards away from Harry. "Now, as you cast the spell, you must think of a happy memory," Snape continued speaking as he stood. "Are you ready?"

Harry's thoughts whirled as he tried to place a happy memory. "Um, I guess," he responded, his legs feeling rather weak.

Snape nodded and pointed his wand at the box. "Alohomora."

Harry flinched slightly as the box rattled threateningly. Suddenly, the lid burst open. A dark fog came spilling from the box, and within seconds, a dementor had appeared from its depths. The dementor glided toward Harry, its cloak dragging heavily on the office floor. A choking, rattling sound came from the hole in its face as the dementor breathed, sucking in air. Harry backed away, panicking, as he felt a rush of cold and hopelessness wash over him. A woman's screams echoed in his head, and he was dimly aware of Snape's voice cutting through the thick haze covering his mind.

"Cast the spell, Potter!"

Harry gripped his wand tighter. "Expecto…expecto…" he gasped as his back hit the office wall. The dementor was nearly on him; he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Harry felt his legs growing weak under him, and as he collapsed, a welcoming darkness was the last thing he knew.

Harry awoke to rough hands shaking his shoulders. "Potter, get up!" a voice thundered from above him.

Head spinning, Harry groaned as he opened his eyes. Snape was kneeling next to him, gripping his shoulders tightly. Upon seeing Harry was awake, Snape scowled before dragging him up from the ground. Still feeling a bit woozy, Harry leaned heavily against the office wall, glancing around the room. The boggart was nowhere in sight, and the box sat closed on the office floor. Harry flushed as he realized what'd happened—that he'd collapsed _again_.

Snape brushed off his robes as he sneered at Harry. "Was that supposed to be an attempt, Potter?" he questioned harshly.

Harry breathed heavily, feeling as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. "I…I dunno," he replied, somewhat dazed. "I…I wasn't ready. I couldn't think of anything happy."

Snape snorted. "Well, this time, make sure you have your memory in place _before_ the boggart comes at you."

Harry nodded, picking up his wand from where it'd fallen on the floor. Straightening up, he dug through his memories rapidly. A happy memory…after a moment, Harry placed a rather mundane, yet still happy memory—hanging out with Ron and Hermione in the common room, the three of them laughing at something. Harry tried to focus on this memory before turning to Snape, who regarded him solemnly.

"Do you have your memory, Mr. Potter?" the professor questioned.

"Yes sir," Harry replied, pointing his wand at the box, replaying the memory through his mind.

The professor nodded before directing his wand at the box and unlocking it. Like before, the boggart sprang from the box, instantly taking the form of a dementor. Almost immediately, despair washed over Harry. Trying to stand his ground, Harry focused on the memory of his friends, trying desperately to think happy thoughts. "Expecto Patronum," he managed to gasp out. To Harry's dismay, nothing happened. The dementor continued to advance, its boney hands grasping out toward Harry.

Harry felt his head spinning as those terrible screams began again. Reeling, Harry backed away from the dementor, dropping all pretense of trying to fight it. Desperately, he backed against the office wall, his only thoughts those of escape. Before he could collapse again, however, he heard Snape's voice call out from the other side of the dementor.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Harry tore his gaze away from the dementor as a brilliant white light flew out from Snape's wand. The light darted about the room before taking on the form of some animal. A spirit guardian, Harry recalled, remembering Hermione's words. The silvery creature—a doe, Harry realized—ran directly up to the dementor. As the two creatures collided, the dementor faltered before quickly shrinking away, forced back by the Patronus. Retreating, the boggart began to lose its form, turning back to thick, black fog as it dove into the box.

Harry watched as Snape jerked his wand, breaking off the connection with his Patronus. The doe dissipated in a puff of silvery smoke as Snape turned his attention to the boggart's box, hurriedly casting a locking charm.

Silence filled the office. Breathing heavily, Snape turned to face Harry, nostrils flaring. "Pathetic, Potter!" he snarled, baring his teeth. "Honestly, are you even trying?"

Straightening up, Harry nodded jerkily. "Yes," he muttered, swallowing heavily. "I am."

Snape scoffed. "Of course you are, Potter."

"I am!" Harry insisted, clenching his teeth in anger. "I even had a happy memory that time!"

Snape's face was murderous. "Don't take that tone with me, boy," he bit out, narrowing his eyes. "Now, begin again, with some actual effort this time."

Harry's stomach sank. Trembling slightly, he faced the box once more, dread coursing through his body.

* * *

><p>Harry staggered through the hallway, feeling more exhausted than he could ever recall feeling. He'd just finished his lesson with Snape, and despite facing the boggart at least a dozen times more, Harry still hadn't managed to produce even a wisp of smoke. Snape had ridiculed him relentlessly, accusing him of not trying—of being lazy and complacent, when in reality, Harry didn't know what else he could have done. He'd been dismissed by a short-tempered Snape, who had snappily reminded him to arrive <em>on time<em> to his next lesson.

Rounding a corner, Harry continued his trek back to the Gryffindor common room, wanting nothing more than to sink into his bed and sleep forever. Harry was about to climb a staircase when a voice called from behind him. "Harry?"

Heart pounding, Harry whipped his head around. Professor Lupin stood in the middle of the hall, a stack of books in his hands. "Harry, what on earth are you doing out this late?" the professor questioned gently. "It's nearly past curfew."

Harry cleared his throat. "I…uh, just got out of my lesson with Professor Snape," he answered, shuffling his feet nervously.

Lupin frowned slightly, shifting the books in his arms. "A lesson?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he replied awkwardly. "He's teaching me to cast a Patronus."

For a moment, Harry swore he saw a flash of anger pass over Lupin's face—something primal and raw—but the next moment, the professor stood there, looking completely composed and unaffected.

"Is he then," Lupin muttered rather darkly. After a moment of heavy silence, Lupin looked up at Harry. "How would you like to join me in my office for some tea, Harry?" the professor questioned, smiling gently. "We've a bit of time left before curfew, and there's something I'd quite like to discuss with you."

"Er…ok," Harry replied, swallowing thickly.

With a smile, Lupin turned back around and began to walk down the corridor. Harry hurriedly trailed behind, and after a minute, Lupin stopped in front of a door. Opening it, the professor gestured for Harry to enter first.

"Thanks," Harry murmured, quickly stepping into the office. After coming from Snape's office—which was rather barren and bleak—Lupin's was a welcome relief. The room was well lit and very inviting, with two comfy looking red armchairs jammed into a corner with a wooden table between them.

Shutting the door behind him, Lupin smiled at Harry before setting the large stack of books on his desk. "I was at the library," he explained to Harry. "Gathering some material on hinkypunks for tomorrow's defense class. Have a seat," he continued, gesturing at the red armchairs, "And I'll order us some tea."

"Ok," Harry agreed readily, sinking down into the offered chair. Complete exhaustion engulfed Harry, and closing his eyes, he jumped slightly a minute later when Lupin set a tray of tea down on the table.

Pouring a cup, the professor handed it over to Harry before taking his own seat. Murmuring his thanks, Harry took a large sip. Lupin smiled at Harry before reaching into his robe pocket and pulling out a bar of chocolate.

"Eat it," the professor ordered, handing the bar to Harry. "You look as though you need it."

Harry felt as though he needed it too. Fighting the boggart so many times had taken a lot out of him. Taking a large bite of the chocolate, Harry felt warmth spread through his body. Sighing contentedly, Harry continued to nibble at the bar.

"So," Lupin said after a moment. "How did your lesson with Professor Snape go?"

Swallowing the piece of chocolate in his mouth, Harry shrugged. "Ok, I suppose," he mumbled. "I didn't manage to cast a Patronus though."

Lupin frowned before replying. "Frankly, I'd be stunned if you had, Harry. Casting a Patronus is a tricky, difficult business. Most full grown wizards can't even manage to do so."

Harry felt his heart sink at this. "Do you think I'll ever manage to cast one then?" he questioned, gripping his tea cup tightly.

Lupin studied Harry intently. "I do," he responded, his voice firm. "You have conviction and dedication, Harry. I have faith that with time, and practice, you will learn to cast one."

Harry blinked rapidly before nodding and taking another bite of chocolate.

After a moment of heavy silence, Lupin met Harry's eye. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm not the one teaching you to cast a Patronus, Harry."

Harry felt his face flush. "That's ok, Professor," he responded quickly. "I know you're probably too busy."

Lupin smiled rather wryly. "I am busy, Harry, but not to the point where I'm unable to take up extra lessons. I feel as if you rather deserve an explanation as to why Professor Snape is teaching you, and not I."

"It's alright, Professor," Harry replied. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"But I do, Harry," Lupin responded gently. "I owe it to you. You see, I am unable to teach you because I myself cannot cast a Patronus."

Harry merely stared. "You can't?" he asked, feeling rather stunned. "But, on the Express..."

Lupin sighed. "That was the one exception, Harry. It was the first time I've managed to cast a Patronus in over ten years, and it took a lot out of me. And my inability is not because I lack skill or understanding. I cannot produce a happy enough memory to cast a Patronus. I could at one point in my life, but no longer."

Realization of what Lupin was saying dawned on Harry. "Oh," he said shortly.

Lupin smiled. "It takes a strong person to cast a Patronus," the professor said, taking a sip of tea. "I'm just not strong enough."

Harry frowned. "But professor," he replied after a moment. "How come Snape can cast a Patronus then? How can he have more happy memories than you?"

Lupin laughed gently at that. "At one point in my life, I would have asked myself the same question," the professor said, looking rather thoughtful. "I have experienced horrors in my past, Harry, as has Professor Snape. While I am controlled by my past, Professor Snape exerts control over his. He emerged determined and hardened by his trials, and as a result, he is the stronger man."

Harry looked down at his cup of tea, hearing Lupin's words, but not understanding how they could be true—how Snape could be stronger, how he could be _happier_—than Professor Lupin.

* * *

><p>I hope everyone enjoyed that chapter! Chapter four is coming soon, and that's where the plotexcitement will really start to pick up. :)

Please, please review! I need all the encouragement I can get this next week, what with starting college and all. Please and thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer- I am not JK Rowling; I do not own any of her characters and I did not come up with the brilliant idea which is Harry Potter.

A/N- Oh my gosh! Firstly, thank you so much for the great response to this story! All your lovely comments really make my day and keep me motivated! Secondly, I'm SO sorry for not updating in so long! Life has been super busy, and I've been trying to transition into college. I swear, I have not and will not abandon this story! It's just been a crazy two months. Expect more regular updates, especially with Christmas coming soon! So, to make up for my absence, here's an extra-long chapter! Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"There," Harry murmured, signing his name at the top of his Herbology essay. Yawning widely, he set the roll of parchment aside to dry. Dragging his Defense book from his bag, Harry plopped it on the table with a heavy thump.<p>

"Hermione," he asked, turning to the girl next to him. "Can you read over my Herbology paper for me?"

Hermione, who was working on her own homework, frowned heavily at Harry. "You should have finished it yesterday," she scolded sharply. However, she set down her own work and picked up Harry's essay. After dipping her quill in ink, she began to scribble furiously on it.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. "I didn't have time yesterday," he groaned. "I had quidditch practice, and then Transfiguration to do, and then Charms…"

"Yeah, Hermione," Ron chimed in from the couch, where he sat reading a quidditch magazine. "We don't all have massive amounts of free time, you know."

As Hermione and Ron began to bicker, Harry forced his eyes open. Reluctantly, he opened his Defense book to begin reading that night's chapter.

It seemed to Harry that the professors were being especially vicious this year. Nearly every night he had essays to write, readings to do, and charms to practice. Hermione claimed that this increase in work was "only to be expected" as it was "nearly their OWL year." Harry didn't know how much that had to do with it, since OWLS were ages away. Either way, his workload had definitely increased. With all his work on top of Snape's lessons every weeknight, Harry could feel himself growing more fatigued as the days went by.

Even now, trying to read his Defense text, Harry was nearly dosing off. Again, he forced his eyes open. Shaking his head to clear it, Harry focused intently on the book in front of him. Even so, he kept reading the same line on Vampires over and over, not making any sense of it.

"Harry. Harry?"

Harry jerked his head up as Hermione called his name. "Yeah?" he yawned, wishing that he could just curl up in his bed and sleep for ages.

"Don't you have your lesson tonight?"

Harry stared blankly at Hermione for a moment, his mind slow and hazy from hours of busywork. However, comprehension quickly set in. Looking at his wristwatch, Harry swore rapidly and lurched forward from his seat, nearly tripping over his chair as he tried to pull on his shoes.

"Why didn't you tell me it was nearly time?" he snapped at Hermione, grabbing his robes and shoving his arms into the sleeves.

"Me?" gasped Hermione, narrowing her eyes. "What, am I in charge of your lessons now? You're lucky Iremembered at all!"

Harry knew she was right—it wasn't her fault he was running late. But days of exhaustion and stress made his temper short. "You should have warned me," he growled, grabbing his bag from off the floor.

Hermione's face was furious. "Don't you dare blame me for this, Harry James Potter!" she shouted.

Harry ignored her, instead turning to storm out of the common room.

"Correct your essay yourself!" he heard Hermione call from behind him. Exiting from the portrait hole, Harry's last sight was Hermione stomping up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, with Ron still sitting on the couch with his magazine, looking completely dumbfounded.

* * *

><p>"Again."<p>

Harry ground his teeth together, wiping sweat from his forehead. He had run all the way from the Gryffindor common room to Snape's office, just managing to arrive on time. Snape hadn't commented on Harry's state of dishevel, though the look he'd given him had been more than enough to express his displeasure.

This was Harry's fifth lesson with Snape. He had faced the dementor countless times over the past few days, and had yet to manage even a wisp of a Patronus. He tried to focus on his happy memory—tried to reassure himself that the boggart wasn't _really_ a dementor—but it never seemed to work. Every time the boggart came near him, Harry froze up.

He had just finished attempting to fight the boggart for the first time that night, and had once again failed miserably. Snape stood in his corner, arms crossed as he regarded Harry with narrowed eyes.

"Again, Potter," Snape repeated shortly.

And so Harry tried again. For the next hour, he continued his attempts to defeat the boggart. However, as the lesson progressed, Harry grew more and more disheartened. It had already been five days since he'd started these lessons, and he was no closer to producing a Patronus now than he'd been at the first lesson. What if he just couldn't produce a Patronus? What if he was one of those wizards Lupin had talked about—one that didn't have enough magic or happiness to conjure one?

As the lesson's end grew closer, Snape grew nastier, as he did at every lesson. "Pathetic, Potter," he growled as Harry backed away from the boggart. "Absolutely pathetic."

As Snape defeated the boggart himself, Harry slumped against the wall, panting heavily.

After capturing the boggart in its box, Snape turned to Harry. "Well," he snapped at Harry, who still leaned heavily against the wall. "Up, Potter. Once more, though clearly it's a wasted effort, since you are obviously not even trying."

Snape's comment rung through Harry's head, this one surprisingly hurtful. Not trying? Harry didn't know how he could try any harder! Straightening up, Harry clenched his fists tightly. "I am trying, Professor," he muttered through gritted teeth. "I don't know what else I can do."

Snape raised an eyebrow at this. "I'm sure you can think of something," he replied curtly.

Harry closed his eyes, frustrated with himself and with Snape. "I just…I don't know what I'm doing wrong," he murmured angrily, his exhaustion making him ramble somewhat. "I mean, I'm saying the incantation, I have a happy memory, and I'm focusing on it as hard as I can. What else is there?"

Snape studied Harry intently. "What is your happy memory, Potter?"

Though Snape's tone was still brisk and rather severe, his words lacked the usual malice Harry had come to associate with his Professor.

"Um…" Harry thought quickly. "Me and my friends, hanging out."

Snape was silent for a moment before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. "Have you ever considered that perhaps your inability is based on the fact that your happy memory isn't happy enough?" he questioned Harry after a moment, sounding rather pained.

"Um…"

Snape opened his eyes, sneering slightly. "Obviously not."

Harry frowned at that. "It seemed like a pleasant enough memory to me."

"A pleasant memory isn't good enough, Potter!" Snape spat out. "To produce a Patronus, you need an _exceptionally_ happy memory—the happiest you can possibly remember! How else do you expect to counter against the despair dementors produce?"

Harry stared at Snape, mouth gaping open. "Well, how was I supposed to know?" he replied after a moment. "You should have…I dunno, _specified_ that or something!"

Snape looked murderous. "I didn't think it necessary."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from replying.

After a long moment of silence, Snape exhaled heavily. "Well, Potter," he finally said, sounding more weary than angry now. "Find your memory, and try again."

Harry nodded briskly, closing his eyes and sorting through his memories…the happiest he'd ever felt…after a moment, Harry focused in on a memory. When he'd received his Hogwarts letter from Hagrid.

Focusing intensely on this memory, Harry opened his eyes and nodded at Snape, who was again standing in the far corner of the room. The Professor jerked his head in response before pointing his wand at the boggart's box.

"Alohomora."

The boggart burst from its box, immediately taking on the form of a dementor. As it glided toward Harry, the familiar feeling of hopelessness spread throughout the room. Harry winced as the screams began echoing through his head. Staring at the dementor, he gripped his wand tightly, suddenly feeling short of breath. He tried to think of his happy memory—of receiving his Hogwarts letter. "Expecto Patronum," he gasped, flourishing his wand at the dementor. Nothing.

Harry took a deep breath, gathering his strength. He pictured his memory again, trying to focus on the feelings instead of the scene this time. Harry grasped desperately at the happy feelings of his memory—feelings of joy and elation as he held and read his letter. Learning that magic was real, that he wasn't a freak, that he belonged somewhere. As the boggart drifted nearer, Harry stood his ground, allowing happiness to overtake him.

"Expecto Patronum!"

And finally, something happened. A silvery smoke burst from Harry's wand, drifting between him and the dementor. The smoke was thin and wavering, but definitely present. The dementor hovered on the other side of the fog, deterred, but not defeated. Harry could feel his wand hand beginning to shake as his energy drained. Taking a step backward, he noticed that the smoke was beginning to thin, and that the dementor was again beginning its approach.

"Expecto Patronum."

Before Harry could drop his shield, Snape's own Patronus took over. The silvery doe charged at the dementor without hesitation. As the two collided, the boggart let out an unearthly shriek before retreating back to the safety of its box. Panting heavily, Harry let his wand drop. The wispy smoke disappeared within moments, leaving Harry feeling completely drained. Shaky and weak, he leaned against a nearby table, trying to regain his strength.

"Well."

Harry jerked his head up. Snape stood next to the boggart's box, studying him intently. Harry couldn't quite read his Professor's expression, but thought that he could see something akin to approval in the man's eyes. However, Harry was nearly certain he'd imagined it, as the next moment Snape's face became a blank mask again.

"An improvement, Mr. Potter," Snape murmured.

Harry merely stared, his mind dulled from exhaustion.

Snape gazed at Harry a second longer before quickly turning away. "Dismissed," he muttered, sitting down at his desk and pulling some paperwork toward him.

Harry just stood there, still feeling too dizzy to move. However, after a few moments, Snape jerked his head up from his work. "Are you deaf, Potter?" Snape questioned sharply. "Leave!"

Harry jolted away from the table he leaned against, spurred on by the intensity of Snape's voice. Gathering his things as quickly as possible with his clumsy, shaky hands, Harry exited the office. Shutting the door behind him, he began the long trek back to his dormitory, too tired to even be excited over the fact that he'd _finally_ produced a Patronus.

* * *

><p>Harry leaned back in the cushioned armchair he sat on, thinking to himself that classroom chairs shouldn't be allowed to be this comfortable. Around him, the sounds of students chatting and the clinking of tea cups filled the Divination classroom. Ron, who sat across from Harry in his own poufy armchair, was looking at his tea cup, frowning heavily.<p>

"What do you reckon that's supposed to be," Ron muttered, thrusting his tea cup toward Harry. "It just looks like a pile of ruddy tea leaves to me."

Harry blinked heavily before looking down at Ron's cup. "Dunno," he murmured, yawning widely. "Maybe a ship, or something…"

Ron pulled the tea cup back to his side of the table, studying it intently. "You think?" he questioned, turning the cup from side to side.

Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I dunno. I'm too tired to think…"

Ron nodded sympathetically. "Well, what about yours?" he asked, peering over into Harry's tea cup. "A hat, maybe?"

Harry glanced into the cup. "Sure," he shrugged. "Why not? It's not like she can complain about it," he added, inclining his head toward Trelawney, who was wandering about the classroom. "She said it should be our own interpretation…"

"Good point," Ron agreed brightly, tugging the Divination book toward him. "Let's see…ship, ship, ship…." He muttered, thumbing through the pages.

"Ah, boys. What do the fates have in store for you today?"

Harry jolted up, having nearly nodded off again. Trelawney stood next to their table, looking rather bat-like with her spectacle-magnified eyes and draping, voluminous robes.

"Well, err…." Ron stammered, glancing down at his open Divination text. "Well, I've got a ship, so I'll be…traveling a lot?"

"Ah, yes," Trelawney nodded knowingly, her eyes wide. "Winds of change are coming, Mr. Weasley."

Ron nodded brightly, relief that he'd guessed correctly evident in his face. "And Harry, he's got a hat," Ron added, pointing at Harry's cup. "But we're still looking that one up."

Trelawney frowned slightly, reaching out her hand to take hold of Harry's cup. Holding it delicately by the handle, she held the cup up to the light, squinting at the tea leaves caked to its bottom. After a long moment, she let out a huge gasp, letting the cup fall from her grasp. It shattered on the floor, causing the entire class to go silent and look toward Harry's table as Trelawney grasped her chest, panting heavily.

"My dear," she gasped, her voice heavy with dread. "You have…the grim."

Silence filled the room. Trelawney stared at Harry, her eyes wide and expecting.

"Um…alright," Harry replied rather feebly, unsure of how to respond.

Trelawney let out a low, unearthly moan, looking ready to faint. "No, my boy!" she groaned, sinking into a nearby armchair. "You don't understand! The grim…it is the omen of _death_."

She hissed this last word, her voice carrying throughout the classroom. The room was dead silent for a split second before gasps and whispers broke out amongst the students.

Harry could practically feel the stares of his classmates. Sinking down in his chair, he nodded weakly at Trelawney, who was still staring at him intently, eyes wide and unblinking.

"My dear," she murmured, gripping the arms of her chair tightly. "Surely you understand what this means? What precautions you must take?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Harry nodded, swallowing heavily. "Of course."

However, it seemed as though Trelawney had already lost interest. With another gasp, she swooped from her seat and hurried a few tables over to consult with Parvati and Lavender, who were hurriedly examining their own tea cups, looks of dread and fear plastered on their faces.

As soon as Trelawney was out of ear-shot, Harry turned to Ron, who was staring at the shards of Harry's tea cup. "What the bloody hell's a grim?" Harry hissed quickly.

"What that bat said," Ron replied, sounding rather stunned. "Omen of death. Takes the form of a great, black dog— they say once you've seen one, you're destined to die within the month. My uncle saw one once, and he died the very next day."

Harry felt his stomach drop. Clenching his fists tightly, he glanced around the room to make sure no one was listening before replying to Ron.

"I…I saw a big black dog. Night I left the Dursleys'."

Ron jerked his body backwards, nearly knocking his own cup from the table. Eyes wide, he regarded Harry with a sort of fascinated horror, his face deathly pale. However, before the conversation could progress, Trelawney hurriedly stood from her seat and dismissed the class, deeming it necessary to "consult with the fates" about this new occurrence. In an unusually subdued manner, the students rose from their seats and began descending from the ladder which served as the exit from the classroom.

Once they were walking down the hall toward Transfiguration, Harry rounded on Ron. "How much time do you think I have?" he asked quietly, to avoid being overheard.

"I dunno, mate," Ron replied rather lifelessly. "I suppose it varies."

"Honestly, you two. Don't tell me you actually believe this rubbish?"

Turning around rapidly, Harry was met with the sight of Hermione standing directly behind them, arms crossed across her chest.

"Blimey, 'Mione," Ron muttered. "Don't just sneak up like that! And where the bloody hell did you come from anyway? We didn't see you in class."

Hermione gave Ron a rather funny look. "Don't be stupid, Ronald," she chided quickly. "I was there in back the whole time."

Ron shrugged, seemingly dropping the matter. "What, so you don't believe Trelawney's prediction then?" he questioned with a frown.

"Of course not," Hermione scoffed, flouncing down the hallway toward Transfiguration, causing Ron and Harry to hurriedly follow after her. "Honestly, this class seems like one big joke," she continued with a huff. "As if anyone can actually tell the future from reading tea leaves. I mean, _really_. And Trelawney is just full of hot air. I've heard she predicts the deaths of at least ten students a year, and none of them have ever come true."

Harry felt the tension within his chest ease a bit. "Good to know," he murmured softly.

Hermione turned toward Harry, glaring intensely. "Not as though I care," she added haughtily, looking away quickly. "I just felt obligated to warn you, since _apparently_, it's my new duty to do so."

Harry felt himself flush as the memory of his argument with Hermione came rushing back. "Er, yeah, about that…" Harry stammered. "I'm really sorry about last night—I didn't mean it, honestly. I was just tired, that's all."

Hermione met Harry's gaze, studying him intently. "Well, alright then," she replied after a moment. "Just don't let it happen again."

"I won't," Harry swore, utterly sincere.

Hermione smiled softly before turning away. "We'd best hurry," she added after a moment. "Or we'll be late to Transfiguration."

* * *

><p>"Harry, mate, it's past midnight already."<p>

"I know," Harry groaned, setting down his quill and rubbing at his eyes. "You go to bed, Ron. I'll be up as soon as I finish this."

With a nod and quick goodnight, Ron stood up from the couch, stretched for a moment, and then ascended the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry focused back on the essay in front of him. Four feet on the properties of summoning potions, and he had barely half a foot. Anxious, Harry chewed on his lip. He really should have started sooner, but he'd had absolutely no time in the past few days. Another sleepless night wouldn't kill him, he supposed. And it wasn't as though he really had a choice; he couldn't afford to skive off on a potions assignment. His grade was already poor enough in that class.

With a sigh, Harry forced himself to scratch out another few sentences. Over the next hour, Harry continued to trudge through his essay. As time passed, he could feel himself growing continuously drowsier. Already exhausted, the increasing silence and darkness in the common room didn't help matters as more people went to bed and the fire grew dimmer and dimmer. Soon, the room was empty save for Harry.

Setting down his quill for a moment, Harry blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. Picking up his essay, he tried to read over what he had already written, but his eyes continuously ran over the same words, uncomprehending of their meaning. After a minute, Harry decided the effort was futile. He couldn't understand a word he was reading. Already half-asleep, Harry lay his head down on the table and closed his eyes. He wouldn't sleep, he told himself. Just a short rest to relax his tired eyes. However, even as Harry promised himself this, he could feel himself beginning to doze off. After a few moments, he surrendered onto sleep, allowing darkness to surround him.

_Silence fills the dark room. Hasty footsteps, and then, a familiar voice whispering—secret whispers, warnings of something dark and sinister. Something, someone approaching. And then, suddenly, whispers become screams. Pleas and screams of complete, utter terror. The screams continue, piercing and raw, echoing in the small room. The voice begins to sob brokenly. A blinding, green light. And then as suddenly as the screams began, they stop. Silence fills the dark room. And then, something approaches…drawing nearer, terror fills the room again…a voice, a spell, a light…_

With a sharp yell, Harry awoke, jolting up from the table. Heart pounding wildly, he drew in rapid breaths, reality slowly setting in as he left his nightmare behind and realized where he was. Still breathing heavily, Harry simply sat there, trying to catch his breath and control his shaking body. Reaching up to feel at the wetness on his face, Harry realized with sudden horror that he was crying.

Rubbing at his face, Harry closed his eyes tightly, willing the nightmare to leave his mind. It had been many, many years since he'd had a nightmare this bad, and he knew from past experience that the best way to forget was to move on and not dwell on it. Analyzing just made it worse. And Harry didn't want to think about what thisdream could have possibly meant.

After another few minutes, Harry gathered up his papers and began heading up to his dormitory. Trying to do any more work tonight was pointless. He was just too tired, and his thoughts were elsewhere.

Opening the door to his dormitory, Harry stepped into the room quickly and then quietly latched the door behind him to avoid waking his dorm mates. Too tired to do anything, Harry trudged over to his bed and tugged off his shoes, pulling his sweater off over his head. Climbing into bed, Harry drew the curtains around him and burrowed under his blankets. Closing his eyes, he tried to will his mind empty—to think solely of sleep. Still, it was a long time before he finally drifted into a restless sleep, his nightmare still lingering heavily in the corners of his mind.

* * *

><p>"Long night?"<p>

Wearily, Harry glanced up from his bowl of porridge. "You have no idea," he murmured in response to Hermione's question. With a sympathetic nod, Hermione sat down across from him at the Gryffindor table, dishing herself a plate of fruit and toast.

Yawning widely, Harry took another bite of porridge. "I managed to finish the assignment this morning," he continued with a sigh. "But there's no way I'll get a good mark on it. Even I'll admit it's terrible."

Ron, who sat next to Harry, was steadily working his way through a plate towering with bacon and scrambled eggs. Swallowing his mouthful, he shrugged. "Tough luck, mate."

"Yeah," Harry frowned, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.

Neville, who sat on the other side of Hermione, looked up from his own breakfast. "Mine's only two feet long," he moaned, looking rather pale. "I just don't understand anything about these stupid summoning potions! Snape's going to kill me, I just know it."

"You'll be fine, Neville," Hermione soothed gently. Glancing at her wristwatch, Hermione gasped suddenly. "I'll see you guys later," she said quickly, standing up and grabbing her unfinished piece of toast. Slinging her book bag over her shoulder, she hurriedly exited the great hall.

"Why's she going that way?" Neville questioned with a frown. "We have Potions first today."

Harry yawned again. "Dunno…library?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed with a smirk. "You're probably right. Only Hermione would be that anxious to get to the library before class!"

* * *

><p>"Now, Fred and George, I want you two to focus on speed this season; speed is crucial. I've heard rumors that Hufflepuff has already started special speed training for their beaters! We can't afford to fall behind."<p>

"Hufflepuff?"

"Fall behind _them_? Do you really have such little faith in us, Oliver?"

"I mean, really. Anderson can't even tell a Bludger from his own arse."

Laughter broke out amongst the Gryffindor quidditch team. Even Harry had to smile slightly at Fred and George's bantering. It was the first quidditch practice of the year, and already Oliver was beginning to obsess.

Oliver frowned heavily. "Come on guys. This is our last chance to win the cup. It's my last chance. I just want to make this year count, alright?"

Fred clapped Oliver's shoulder, grinning impishly. "Don't worry Oliver, we're just teasing you. Of course we're going to win this year; there's no question about it, especially not with you as our captain.

Oliver hid his grin, sheepishly knocking Fred's arm from his shoulder. Clearing his throat slightly, he turned to face the rest of the team. "Ok guys, mock game—usual positions. Remember our strategy, ok? And Harry, make sure you don't catch the snitch until one team's ahead by at least 100 points—I don't want the game ending too quickly."

Harry nodded his agreement. Chatter broke out amongst the team as they took to the sky. Mounting his broomstick, Harry kicked off from the ground, feeling his heart leap in exhilaration as he soared across the pitch. Apart from his friends, there wasn't anything he missed more during the summers than quidditch. There was nothing quite like it. Circling higher and higher above the pitch, Harry squinted at the figures below him as they began their game.

Continuing to circle lazily, Harry let his mind wander as he waited for the game to progress. The afternoon sun beat down on Harry, making him even drowsier than he already was. Yawning widely, he stretched his arms above his head, trying to wake himself up. Descending slightly, he attempted to watch the game going on below, giving his mind something to do. However, Harry's mind soon went blank once more. He watched the figures below in a half-interested, uncomprehending manner.

"Harry! Harry, look out!"

Jolted out of his stupor, Harry turned around in time to see a Bludger heading straight toward him. Serving upward, he managed to avoid a straight-on collision with the Bludger; however, it still managed to clip him hard on the shoulder. Wincing, Harry grabbed at his arm, pain spreading rapidly in the spot where the Bludger had hit. Through the dulled pain, Harry heard Oliver's whistle sound.

"Harry, are you alright? Come on, let's land."

Harry nodded at George, who had flown up next to him. Gently taking Harry's uninjured arm, George began to descend, pulling Harry down with him.

As the two of them landed on the ground, Harry staggered off his broomstick, trying to rub the soreness from his shoulder.

"You ok, Harry?" Oliver asked, voice concerned, as he landed next to George and Harry.

"Yeah," Harry replied, flexing his fingers, trying not to wince at the pain that shot through his arm at the motion. "Just bruised, I think. It didn't hit too hard."

Oliver studied Harry's face for a moment before nodding curtly. "Good," he replied briskly. "Can't have an injured seeker. If you think you're still well enough to play, let's start again. Only this time, pay attention to where the Bludgers are, eh?"

Rather embarrassed, Harry nodded in agreement. Ignoring the pain in his arm, Harry mounted his broomstick and took off into the sky, vowing to himself that he'd be more attentive.

* * *

><p>"Good game, Harry-kins!"<p>

Harry smiled at George as he ruffled his hair. "Thanks," he grinned, knocking George's hand off his head. "I try."

George laughed good naturedly, turning away from Harry to exit the boy's changing room. "See you later," he called as he exited, waving briefly to Harry.

"Bye," Harry called back, waving in response. As soon as the door had swung shut behind George, Harry quickly lowered his arm, wincing at the pain which shot through it. He'd managed to finish the game and catch the snitch, but it hadn't been easy with a bum arm. That Bludger must have hit harder than he'd though, Harry mused, rubbing at his sore shoulder.

Undressing hurriedly, Harry shoved his quidditch gear into his locker. He had a lesson with Snape in less than twenty minutes, and he definitely didn't want to be late. After a quick shower, Harry changed into his school clothes and began his trek down to the dungeons. Already, the euphoria brought on by quidditch was wearing off, and dread began to course through Harry's stomach. Completely drained from a week of sleepless nights, Harry definitely didn't want to fight the boggart today.

Reaching Snape's office, Harry found the door already open. Inside the room, Snape sat at his desk, completely engaged in his grading. Harry hovered in the doorframe, unsure of whether he should just enter or announce his presence. However, in the next moment, Snape looked up from his work, and seeing Harry, smiled rather nastily.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Come in," Snape drawled. "I was just grading your essay."

Feeling his stomach clench, Harry entered the office and deposited his things in the corner. After a moment, Snape continued speaking.

"Hopefully, your performance today will be better than your performance on this assignment," the Professor sneered, gesturing toward the paper in front of him.

Harry glanced at Snape's desk, feeling himself flush as he saw a sea of red covering his essay. "Yes sir," he murmured, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

Snape nodded curtly, quickly gathering the papers on his desk into a neat stack. "Well, let's begin," Snape sighed. Standing up, the Professor headed to the cupboard in the far corner of the room, retrieved the boggart's box, and set it in the center of the floor.

"As you managed to produce a fog in our last lesson, I expect you to progress even further today. I want to see a corporal Patronus—a Patronus with actual form—by the end of this lesson. Am I clear, Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Yes sir."

"Very well," Snape replied shortly. "Alohomora."

Taking a deep breath, Harry planted his feet firmly on the ground and pointed his wand at the boggart's box. After a brief moment, the box swung open, and a thick black smoke spilled from its depths, quickly taking the form of a dementor.

Drawing in rapid breaths, Harry felt the familiar despair and hopelessness settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. Even more strongly than normal, he could feel the dementor's presence affecting him—draining him of spirit and what little energy he had. Taking a step backwards, Harry felt as though he were moving much too slowly, through some sort of haze. His mind began spinning; he couldn't seem to catch his breath. And then, the screaming began. Ears ringing, Harry could hardly focus his eyes on the dementor in front of him; it took all his effort to simply remember to breath. Through the din in his mind, he heard someone calling to him, shouting for him to do something…

However, Harry couldn't remember anything. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe…and before he could do anything, the dementor was on him, and he was trapped inside a familiar nightmare…

_Silence fills the dark room. And then, rapid footsteps approach. The door slams open—a familiar face, pinched with fear, soothes and whispers. And then, another figure in the doorway—this one taller, darker, unfamiliar…_

_ "Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside!"_

_ "No, please, not Harry! Please, take me instead! Just spare him! Not Harry!"_

_ The familiar screams begin. Pleas of terror and desperation, but not for oneself. Pleas for the life of a loved one, for the life of a son. Pleas for Harry. _

_ "Avada Kedavra!"_

_ A blinding, green light fills the room. A muted scream, a thud, and then silence. Then, footsteps approach once more, a cackling laugh, a green light—_

"Expecto Patronum!"

Harry came to for a brief moment—just enough time to see a white blur charging at him. However, in the next moment, complete exhaustion and fatigue overtook him. Staggering to the side, Harry felt his legs give out from under him. He was falling, drifting through nothingness. A sharp, sudden pain exploded in the side of his head, and then, Harry knew no more.

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><p>Aw, poor Harry. Hope everyone enjoyed that chapter. More to follow! Next chapter is really juicy, and partially in Snape's POV!<p>

As always, please, please, PLEASE review! They completely make my day, and really give me motivation to continue writing, especially now. Please and thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

I'm back! Finally! Firstly, thank you all so much for your fantastic response to this story and for all your lovely reviews! It truly makes my day to read all your kind words, and warms my heart that so many of you continue to follow and review even after my long absence.

That being said, I apologize for not updating in so long! I know I promised to update much, much, MUCH sooner than this, and I honestly have no real excuse for waiting so long to update. My first year of college kept me very busy with classes and work, and I honestly had no motivation to read or write fan fiction. I pushed this story to the back of my mind, and until recently, had nearly forgotten about it. However, my motivation has returned! I truly plan to finish this story— and I have the whole thing planned out—I just need to find time and energy to write!

I promise I'll never take such a long hiatus again— with summer coming, you can expect regular updates! I'm sorry, but I'm back now, and don't intend to abandon this story! Again, thank you for your patience and support!

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><p>Snape had to admit, he'd been hopeful. Ever since his last lesson with Potter, when the boy had managed to produce a weak incorporeal Patronus, he had hoped that these lessons would begin to progress; that Potter would finally grasp the concept, manage to produce a corporal Patronus, and then he'd be free of him at last.<p>

Unfortunately, that didn't seem too likely at the moment. He had just set the boggart on the boy for the first time that evening, and already Potter looked shaken. As the boy staggered away from the boggart, Snape sighed heavily. They were practically moving backwards in terms of making progress.

"Potter, attack the boggart! What do you think you're doing?"

The boy didn't respond. Still pale and shaky, he continued to inch away from the boggart, looking even more panic-stricken.

Crossing his arms, Snape waited to see if Potter would snap out of his haze and attack, as he'd managed to do during their last lesson. "Focus, Potter!" Snape called out sharply as the boggart drew even closer.

However, in the next second, before Snape could react, the boggart was practically on top of the boy. Reaching out its bony hands, it grasped at Potter's face, pulling him closer. Snape could see that Potter was already lost in his own mind—eyes blank, mouth agape…

Hurriedly, Snape pulled himself out of his stupor and raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

In an instant, his doe burst forth from his wand and charged at the boggart. Shrieking, the boggart retreated, releasing the boy's face from its grasp before hurling itself back into its box.

Snape turned toward the boy, but before he could react, Potter's eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Staggering to the side, the boy suddenly collapsed. Before hitting the floor, however, his head caught on the corner of a nearby table, connecting with a nasty thwack. In moments, the boy was sprawled face-first on the ground.

"Potter!" Snape barked, rushing toward the motionless figure. Reaching the boy, Snape hurriedly grabbed his shoulder and flipped him over. "Potter, get-"

Snape cut himself off when he saw the boy's face. Crimson blood covered it, bright red on pale skin, rushing down from a deep gash in his forehead. Instinct kicking in, Snape reached up with his sleeve to cover the gash, pressing down firmly to staunch the bleeding.

"Potter, can you hear me?" Snape murmured next to the boy's ear. "You have to wake up now." No response; the boy remained motionless. Checking the gash, Snape cursed softly—the bleeding just wouldn't stop. "Potter? Harry? Harry, can you hear me?" Snape continued, switching to the boy's given name in hopes it would spur a response. However, the boy remained limp and unresponsive, his face growing paler by the second.

"Damn it, Harry," Snape muttered to himself. Hurriedly, he picked the boy up from the ground, trying his best to both hold him and slow the bleeding. Rushing toward the fireplace with Potter cradled in his arms, Snape scooped up a handful of floo power and threw it in the hearth. "Hogwarts's hospital wing," he growled, stepping rather awkwardly into the fire.

In moments, the floo kicked in, tugging both him and the boy away. Seconds later, they were spat back out into the fireplace of the hospital wing. Snape staggered slightly from the load in his arms as he stepped out of the hearth. "Poppy!" He called out, looking about the hospital wing wildly. "Poppy, I need you!"

"Good heavens Severus, what's the matter?" Poppy exclaimed, rushing from her office in the corner of the room. Gasping loudly when she saw what Snape carried, she instantly snapped into Healer mode.

"Lay him here," she commanded, patting a nearby bed. "Gently. That's right. Don't lift your hand from the bleeding just yet."

Snape nodded, doing as Poppy said. Once the boy was situated on the bed, Poppy sat down next to him and deftly lifted Snape's hand away, inspecting the boy's forehead. Tutting softly, she took out her wand and quickly set to work. "Can you fetch me a blood replenishing potion from my stores, Severus?"

Snape nodded curtly. Walking into Poppy's storeroom in the back of her office, Snape opened one of the potions cabinets. Quickly identifying the potion by sight, he grabbed it and hurried back out to Poppy and Potter.

"Here," Snape muttered, handing the vial to Poppy. Examining the boy's face, Snape could see that Poppy had already managed to heal the gash. Now, she spelled the potion into Potter's stomach. "What happened, Severus?" she asked, setting aside the empty vial. Wetting a rag, she began to gently wipe the blood from Potter's face.

Snape swallowed rather harshly, trying to push away any concern he felt for the child. "Potter and I were having a lesson," he began. "I'm teaching the boy to produce a Patronus. We use a boggart in place of a dementor. Today when the boggart came near, the boy collapsed; he hit his head on a table when he fell."

Poppy shook her head softly. "Poor Harry," she murmured. "He looks exhausted. It can't be easy, facing your worst fear like that."

Snape glanced at Potter's face for a moment before looking away sharply.

After another few minutes of silence, Poppy frowned. "He should be waking by now," she fretted, pushing the boy's hair back from his forehead. "I've already checked for any possible concussion. But head wounds can be tricky— it could be he's just sleeping. Let me run a complete scan to be sure."

Poppy waved her wand over Potter's motionless body, murmuring the spell for a full body scan. A moment later, a piece of parchment with the test results appeared in the matron's hands. Snape watched with vague interest as Poppy scanned over the sheet.

"Hmm," she said after a moment, pursing her lips together. "His left shoulder blade is fractured. You didn't mention he'd hurt that."

Snape frowned. "He didn't," he responded shortly, watching as Poppy tapped the boy's shoulder with her wand, quickly mending the broken bone. "He only hit his head when he fell. I'm certain."

Poppy didn't respond, already engrossed in Potter's medical scan once more. Murmuring softy to herself, she ran a finger down the parchment. "Something's not right here," she finally stated, looking up and meeting Snape's eyes. "The boy's suffering from severe exhaustion—both physical and magical. His core is even slightly depleted."

Snape's eyes widened. Depleted cores were serious business; if levels dropped too low, permanent damage could be done to a wizard's magic. Depletion only occurred when a wizard performed excessive magic, beyond their capacity. It was rare, and it was dangerous.

Poppy must have noticed his change in expression. In the next moment, the witch's face turned hard. "Severus Snape," she breathed suddenly, her tone sharp. "Exactly what have you been doing during these lessons?"

Snape swallowed harshly, composing his face before responding. "What I told you. Potter has been facing a boggart, practicing the Patronus charm."

Poppy's expression remained cool. "And how often do you have these lessons? Exactly how hard have you been pushing this child? Producing a Patronus requires a great deal of magic! I know you—I know all about your feelings toward this boy! Do you really hate him so much as to do him this much harm?"

"I- of course not!" Snape retorted quickly, if rather in-eloquently. Flushing slightly at Poppy's implications, he tried to defend himself. "I haven't pushed him any harder than I'd any other student!"

Poppy practically growled. "I understand the degree of magic that must have been performed to reach this level of damage. It is past that of many full-grown wizards, let alone a third year student! Did you even think to offer the boy Pepper-up, or at least chocolate during these lessons?"

Snape's silence seemed to be enough of an answer for the woman. Within moments, she was on top of Snape, roughly pushing him towards the door.

"Out! OUT!" she nearly shouted, shoving at Snape's back. "The Headmaster _will _be informed of this! But right now, I need complete concentration to try and mend this child! I can't be focusing on _you _at this moment!"

With that, Snape was forced from the hospital wing. With a flick of her wand, Poppy shut and latched the door behind him. Stunned, Snape simply stood there for a moment, a rush of thoughts whirling through his mind. Glancing down, he noticed his sleeve and hand were stained red with Potter's blood.

For a second, Snape felt rather ill. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it his hand, murmuring a cleaning spell. The blood easily disappeared, leaving his hand spotless. For a long moment, Snape simply stared at where the blood had been. Shaking himself from his stupor, he quickly pulled his emotions in check.

Turning, Snape began the trek to Albus' office. He intended to inform the Headmaster of what had transpired before Poppy got the chance to twist the truth. However, despite these thoughts, a unusual twinge of guilt had managed to nestle itself firmly in Snape's stomach, so strong that even years of occlumency training weren't enough to suppress it completely.

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><p>Darkness surrounded Harry, engulfing him completely. He could hear voices whispering above him, but couldn't quite bring himself to wake up. Cocooned in warmth, he felt more exhausted than he could ever recall feeling, and more comfortable than he'd been in a long while. Shifting slightly, Harry forced his eyes open, squinting, trying to see where he was.<p>

Everything was blurry without his glasses, and Harry could barely get his eyes to focus through his fatigue, but the bright lights and white walls of the hospital wing were a familiar sight. Blinking rapidly, Harry tried sitting up, but quickly gave up upon realizing how shaky and weak he felt.

In the next moment, a blurred figure appeared at the side of his bed—Madame Pomfrey, Harry realized. The matron placed her hand on his head, gently combing her fingers through his hair. "How are you feeling, Harry?" she questioned.

Harry managed to shrug, blinking heavily. "M' ok. Tired."

Madam Pomfrey humphed slightly. "I should say so," she replied in a tight voice. "Do you remember what happened?"

Harry tried to search through the haze which was his mind. "Was at my lesson," he finally managed to respond. "Think I collapsed again."

Pomfrey nodded in confirmation. "You hit your head rather hard when you fell; Professor Snape had to bring you up here, where I then discovered what condition you were in. Physically exhausted, your magical core damaged—not to mention a broken shoulder! What were you thinking, Harry, allowing yourself to get into that sort of state?"

Harry blinked dumbly, uncomprehending. "Hurt m'arm at quidditch," he finally managed to reply, yawning widely. "M'tired." Closing his eyes, Harry nestled back down into his blankets.

Pomfrey's face seemed to soften. "Go back to sleep, Harry," she commanded gently, tugging the blankets up to his chin. "We'll talk more later."

Harry didn't respond, already asleep once more.

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><p>"Severus, I must say, I'm quite disappointed in you."<p>

Snape glanced up sharply at the Headmaster's words, his eyebrows furrowing. "I've told you already, Albus, I didn't intend to harm the Potter boy. I simply gave him the lessons, as you requested. If he hadn't-"

Albus held up his hand, effectively silencing Snape. With a weary sigh, Albus rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses. After a moment of tense silence, he spoke once more.

"I don't accuse you of intentionally harming Harry. But clearly, you've been pushing the boy too far. You either didn't notice, or didn't care about the strain you were placing on Harry, and that concerns me greatly."

Snape shook his head curtly. "Honestly, Albus, I simply assumed the boy was being lazy. I suppose I was a bit harsh, but I was just trying to get him to show some initiative for once. He was producing dismal results, and hardly putting forth any effort."

"Severus," Albus sighed. "You do understand that Harry is but thirteen? And that you're teaching him the Patronus charm—a spell than many fully matured wizards are incapable of casting. You expect too much of the boy."

Snape avoided Albus' gaze and remained silent, unwilling to admit his faults.

The Headmaster regarded Snape with a solemn face, his eyes cool and penetrating. "Perhaps this arrangement was a mistake," he murmured after a moment. "I thought you'd be able to overlook your grudge against Harry's father and teach Harry what he needs to learn. I though you understood the necessity of this situation."

"I do understand," Snape interrupted.

Albus simply sighed wearily. "I know you do, my boy. But things cannot continue as they are. Poppy has informed me that Harry will make a full recovery, but if he hadn't been brought to her when he was, things could have ended much differently."

Snape's stomach knotted painfully at accusatory tone of the Headmaster's voice. Nodding once in assertion, Snape stared intensely the wall across from Albus' desk.

After another moment of silence, the Headmaster smiled gently, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Come, my boy. All's well that ends well. Harry will be just fine with a day or two of rest, and then you can resume your lessons."

Snape glanced up sharply. "You don't intend to end the lessons then?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "I know you meant no true harm. That being said, you cannot allow your prejudice to blind you again. Harry is not his father, and it is about time you acted as an adult and realized that. Be fair to Harry—treat him well, be patient, and teach him what you can. Do you understood what I'm asking?" His tone was gentle, but behind the façade, his gaze was harsh and unwavering.

"Certainly, Albus," Snape replied mildly, though he met the Headmaster's eyes with an equal intensity.

* * *

><p>Snape stood in the corner of the hospital wing, arms crossed tightly across his chest. Uncomfortably, he watched as Potter slept, his face peaceful and undisturbed in sleep. Shifting his weight, Snape repressed a sigh. He had come to apologize to the boy at Albus' insistence. He wasn't foolish enough to refuse the Headmaster's demand after so narrowly avoiding more serious retribution.<p>

Snape pursed his lips. Leave it to Potter to be asleep when he'd come to apologize to the brat. It had been nearly a full day since he'd brought him to the hospital wing—ample time for the boy to recover, in Snape's opinion. However, when Poppy had begrudgingly allowed him entrance, it had come with a lengthy warning. Something to the extent of not disturbing her patient, and allowing him sufficient time and rest to recover.

He watched the boy for another few minutes, observing him in silence. He sneered; in sleep, Potter looked positively angelic. Dark lashes curled over flushed cheeks, and his expression was relaxed. And yet, the signs of the exhaustion of which Poppy spoke were evident upon closer examination. The boy had dark circles under his eyes, and he appeared pale and much too thin. A thin sheen of sweat covered his face, and his breathing sounded somewhat labored.

Frowning, Snape took in the boy's features, realization suddenly dawning. The boy looked positively ill. Perhaps, Snape mused, Albus' argument held some merit. It was possible that he had been too demanding, and pushed too hard during the boy's lessons. After all, he was still a child, though admittedly a lazy and complacent one.

Suddenly, Potter's face twisted into a grimace, and he let out a small moan, either in nightmare or in pain. Instinctively, Snape reached out a hand toward the child, though to do what he didn't know. However, in the next minute, the boy's face relaxed, returning to normal as quickly as the pained expression had occurred.

Hand still hovering over the boy, Snape's stomach suddenly churned in bitter realization. In sleep, with his eyes closed, the child was the spitting image of James Potter.

Hurriedly, Snape withdrew his hand from the boy in disgust. Without sparing him a second glance, Snape hurriedly turned and exited the hospital wing, absolutely revolted with himself and the moment of weakness he'd just shown. It had meant nothing, he assured himself, though he couldn't completely suppress the doubt he felt at the weak reassurance.

Raising his occlumency shields to full force, Snape made a final, desperate attempt to shove back the wave of memory and emotion which threatened to overwhelm him.

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><p>Hope you enjoyed! Expect an update within the next week- I'm already at work on the next chapter. After that, updates may slow down as I enter finals week, but I will get this story moving and active once summer begins!<p>

Thanks for your continued support—please, please, PLEASE review and follow!


	6. Chapter 6

Hello all— I'm back! Finals have finally ended (HURRAY!), I'm home for the summer, and I'm super happy and not so stressed out anymore! Plus, summer means I have plenty of spare time to write, so I don't have any excuse for irregular updates.

As always, thanks so much for your praise and comments! I was so psyched to pass 100 reviews! I truly appreciate each one of them—they provide such motivation, and my heart jumps in excitement each time I receive an email notifying me I've received another. So, sincere thanks to all those who've reviewed my story— please keep them coming!

Here's the next chapter—expect another update sometime this coming weekend. Enjoy!

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><p>When Harry next woke, the room was shrouded in darkness. Disoriented, he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. His mind felt strangely fuzzy, and he was slow to come to awareness. Gradually, consciousness returned to him, and he recognized the room he was in as the hospital wing.<p>

Still lying in bed, Harry glanced around the hospital wing in confusion—what was he doing here? It was nighttime, and the room was empty aside from Harry. Closing his eyes, he fought to gather his thoughts. He'd been in a lesson with Snape—he remembered that much. However, his following memories were hazy. He remembered trying to fight the boggart, but uncertainty followed after that.

Suddenly, an unexpected wave of dizziness hit Harry. Head reeling, he clenched the bedsheets between his fists, waiting until the spell passed. Breathing a sigh of relief when the dizziness finally subsided, Harry frowned, confused as to why he felt so weak.

"Ah, Harry. I was wondering if I'd find you awake."

Jolting upright in bed with a strangled gasp, Harry glanced wildly about the hospital wing for the source of the disembodied voice. In the next moment, a tall figure emerged from the shadows in the corner of the hospital wing. Heart still pounding, Harry struggled to recognize the darkened figure until a beam of moonlight illuminated a familiar face—Dumbledore.

Stopping as he reached Harry's bed, the Headmaster began to speak, his voice soft. "I do apologize, Harry. I quite forgot that you were unaware of my presence. It assure you, it was not my intention to startle you."

Harry dropped back against his pillow as the adrenaline rush wore off, fatigue overwhelming him once more. "S'ok, Professor," he replied, his voice scratchy from disuse.

With a small nod, Dumbledore brushed his dressing gown aside and sat at the foot of Harry's bed. "I won't keep you long, my boy," he smiled gently. "You'll need your sleep, I imagine. I was just wandering about the halls, and decided to peek in on you. My finding you awake was quite the happy coincidence."

Somehow, Harry doubted this encounter was by chance— nothing with Dumbledore ever was— but he kept his mouth shut all the same. "What am I doing here, Professor?" Harry questioned, managing to hold back a yawn.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Why, you collapsed during your lesson with Professor Snape yesterday. Madam Pomfrey informed me that you were suffering from severe magical exhaustion, and as it turns out, your magical core had begun to deplete itself. You gave us all quite a fright, I'm afraid. But not to worry—with a few days of rest, I've been assured you'll make a full recovery."

Harry blinked slowly. "Magical exhaustion?" he finally replied, brow furring in confusion. "But why?"

Dumbledore smiled patiently. "Because of your lessons, Harry. Casting a Patronus is advanced, complex magic, and performing the charm can be quite draining. I'm afraid that the proper precautions to prevent fatigue weren't taken during your lessons with Professor Snape. That, combined with the sheer frequency and duration of your lessons both contributed to your magical exhaustion."

Silence followed this statement as Harry's tired mind struggled to process what the Headmaster had said. Slowly, memories of the past week came back to him. He remembered his last lesson with Snape—how completely drained he had felt after a week of lessons, homework, and quidditch practice. He remembered the boggart approaching him during his lesson, and not having the energy to cast a Patronus. He remembered a green light—

Harry's stomach clenched as a sudden wave a nausea washed over him. He remembered what he'd seen when the boggart had touched him— his mother, begging Voldemort to kill her, and Voldemort, fulfilling her final request.

Suddenly, everything became horribly clear to Harry. This woman— the woman whose screams filled his dreams at night—this woman was his _mother_. And when he got too near the dementors, he could hear her dying.

"…end them, of course."

Harry jolted back into awareness, suddenly tuning in to what Dumbledore was saying. "Huh?" he questioned dumbly, staring at the Headmaster with wide eyes.

Dumbledore simply smiled. "I was saying, my boy, that we can cancel your lessons with Professor Snape straight away. I can hardly imagine you're eager to continue after what's transpired."

Harry felt strangely numb. "No," he replied after a moment, shaking his head slowly. "No, I need these lessons. I—I want to continue. I can, right?" he questioned, frantically meeting the Headmaster's gaze.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled furiously. "If you so desire. However, I must insist that the frequency and intensity of these lessons is cut back— we can't risk further damage to your core. I'll speak with Professor Snape, and I'll be sure to keep a close eye on your progress. I'm sure you've no objections to that?"

A wave of relief washed over Harry. "Yeah, that's fine," he responded, blinking heavily.

"Very good. And now, I'll leave you to sleep. You need your rest, and I myself suddenly feel quite weary."

With that, the Headmaster rose from his seat on Harry's bed. "Goodnight, my boy," he murmured, turning to depart.

"G'night," Harry replied as Dumbledore exited the room, slowly disappearing from sight in the shadowy corridor.

Exhaling shakily, Harry closed his eyes, completely and utterly drained. However, despite his overwhelming fatigue, it still took some time for Harry to drift into an uneasy sleep. That night, his dreams were haunted by flashes of light and shrill screams.

* * *

><p>"You sure you're feeling alright, Harry? You were sleeping for ages."<p>

"Yeah, I feel great," Harry assured Ron with a stifled yawn. Swinging his legs down off the hospital wing bed, he stretched his arms above his head, sighing in relief as his joints popped into place. Hermione stood nearby, her face pinched with concern.

"I don't know, Harry," she murmured thoughtfully. "You've been here for nearly three days. Are you sure you're up to leaving? You don't think you should rest another night?"

Harry shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine now," he said confidently. "I feel better than I have in ages. Besides, Madam Pomfrey cleared me to go, and I'll sleep better in my own bed anyway."

Hermione huffed, shaking her head. "I can't believe this, Harry. Damaging your core like that—have you any idea how dangerous that was? And Professor Snape; he's partially to blame, of course. I can't believe that he didn't recognize the warning signs!"

Harry shrugged slightly, grabbing the stack of clothes that Ron held out to him. "It's not that big a deal, Hermione," he continued speaking as he closed the curtain around the bed, pulling off the standard-issued pajamas and changing into his own clothes. "I wasn't _really_ hurt, and Pomfrey already lectured me enough as is. Plus, Dumbledore came and talked to me about all this. He said that my lessons won't be so draining from now on, so there's no chance this will happen again." Emerging from behind the curtain, Harry could see from Hermione's expression that his reassurances had done nothing to appease her concern.

"You're continuing your lessons? Even after what's happened?" Hermione questioned briskly, eyes wide. Behind her, Ron also looked startled at Harry's statement.

Hesitating slightly, Harry nodded in assertion. "I really want to learn to cast a Patronus, you guys," he replied softly. "I was making progress—I really was. I need to do this, I just—" Harry's voice cut off, and he swallowed thickly. "I just do," he finished, gazing fixedly at the ground, reluctant to elaborate—to even think about his mother's death— the scene replayed itself in his mind too frequently as it was.

Hermione's face softened. "I understand Harry, I really do. Just promise you'll be more careful, alright? Don't push yourself so hard again."

"Yeah," Ron chimed it. "What Hermione said." A moment of silence followed this statement, before Ron grinned broadly. "Well, should we head out or what? We'll miss dinner, and I'm starving. Plus, you've got to be sick of the hospital wing by now."

Harry smiled. "You've no idea," he agreed, following his friends out the door without hesitation.

* * *

><p>Harry cupped his hand against his cheek and let out a quiet sigh. Next to him, Ron slowly stirred their cauldron of Calming Draught. Stirred one hundred times exactly, counterclockwise, at a cautious pace, Snape had written on the blackboard. Face furrowed in concentration, Ron continued to stir carefully, keeping count under his breath.<p>

It was Harry's first class back since he'd gotten released from the hospital wing. Hermione had graciously lent him all her notes from the classes he'd missed, but Harry was still worried he'd end up falling behind with all the work he had to catch up on.

Eyes wandering about the classroom, Harry let his gaze fall on Snape, who was hunched over a pile of papers at his desk, scribbling intensely with his quill. That was another thing that worried Harry—Snape. Normally brimming with snide remarks, Snape had been abnormally silent today. He hadn't come near Harry and Ron's cauldron to critique their potion, made any demeaning comments, or even glanced at Harry during the entire class. All in all, it was rather alarming, Harry mused. Plus, Snape hadn't breathed a word about continuing his lessons, or if they'd even do so. When Dumbledore had visited Harry in the hospital wing, he had assured Harry that the lessons would continue. However, Harry was certain that if Snape had his way, he'd take this as a welcome opportunity to stop the lessons for good.

"One hundred. Done," Ron breathed a sigh of relief, backing away from the now boiling cauldron and wiping his forehead. "Now what?"

"Er," Harry replied, blinking down at his notes. "Add the beetle eyes." And with that, Harry's musings on his professor were forgotten as he once more engrossed himself in the lesson.

An hour later, Ron and Harry were left with a cauldron of a light blue, slightly transparent draught. "Looks good to me," Ron breathed a sigh of relief, glancing back and forth between the book's description and their own potion. "Maybe we'll actually get decent marks on this one."

Harry nodded in agreement. "That'd be nice," he agreed easily. Ladling the potion into a vial, Harry carefully corked and labeled his sample. He certainly hoped to receive at least an Acceptable on this brewing—he definitely needed the marks. Snape had handed back their last essays at the beginning of class—the one Harry had hastily written in one sleep-deprived night. He'd managed to scrape out a Poor instead of a Dreadful, but it was still a failing grade. He couldn't afford any more failing marks if he wanted to stand a chance of passing Potions. Standing up, Harry grabbed his and Ron's vials to bring up to Snape.

Reaching the Professor's desk, Harry swallowed against a lump in his throat as he set the vials down in the designated pile. He eyed the Professor cautiously for any sign of reaction; however, Snape continued writing furiously, head down, and didn't seem to even notice Harry. Turning to return to his seat, Harry startled when a voice sounded behind him.

"Stay after class, Mr. Potter," Snape breathed quietly. "There are things we must discuss."

Harry suppressed a shiver. "Yes Sir," he replied, before hurriedly making his way back to his seat.

Sliding into his chair, Harry whispered under his breath to Ron. "Snape wants to see me after class. You and Hermione go on to lunch without me."

Ron's eyes grew wide, but he nodded in assertion. "Ok, mate. I'll save you a plate."

"Thanks," Harry replied. "Hopefully I won't be too long."

Several minutes later, Snape dismissed the class. Shooting Harry a pitying look, Ron grabbed Hermione by the arm and tugged her towards the door against her protestations, muttering under his breath as he explained what was going on.

Within moments, the classroom had emptied completely. "Come forward, Mr. Potter," Snape spoke, still not looking up from his desk.

Heart pounding wildly, Harry slung his book bag over his shoulder and shuffled toward the front of the room.

Snape wrote for a few moments more before setting down his quill and looking up at Harry, his face stoic.

"I trust you've fully recovered after your stay in the hospital wing, Mr. Potter?"

Harry stared. "Um, yeah," he responded after a moment. "I'm fine now, Sir."

Snape gave him an appraising look which had Harry bristling in discomfort. After a moment, the Professor simply nodded. "Good. If you're feeling up to it then, we'll resume lessons this coming Monday. I believe reducing the lessons to twice per week should be sufficient."

"Yes Sir," Harry replied mildly, trying not to let the relief he felt at the Professor's words show on his face. Snape wasn't canceling the lessons after all, as Harry had feared may be the case.

Snape hesitated for a moment before continuing to speak, his face expressionless and voice calculated with his next words.

"Perhaps, Mr. Potter, I was a touch too ambitious in regards to my expectations for your performance during our lessons. This may have contributed to your overexertion, and consequentially, your being injured. In light of what has transpired, it seems fitting to offer my apologies."

Harry's eyes widened abruptly at the Professor's last statement, and it was only with great self-restraint that he was able to stop his mouth from falling agape. Honestly, he didn't know what sort of response he'd expected from Snape, but an apology certainly hadn't been it. Uncertain of how to respond, he simply stared in stunned silence.

"Oh, don't look so shocked, Potter," Snape practically growled, his face twisting into a familiar, yet strangely comforting sneer. "It's entirely unnecessary."

Harry flushed, abruptly glancing away. A terse silence, and Harry felt as though he should add something to the conversation.

"I'm sorry too, Professor," he blurted out suddenly, before he lost his nerve. "You know, for being such a bother and all," he added hurriedly upon seeing the uncharacteristically started look on Snape's face. "I know you don't have to teach me this, and I really do appreciate it, I swear."

Snape's face once more smoothed over into an inexpressive mask, but when he spoke, Harry couldn't quite identify his tone. "Dismissed, Mr. Potter," he said smoothly, giving Harry a single, curt nod of affirmation before withdrawing his gaze and busying himself with paperwork once more.

Beyond relieved at the dismissal, Harry spun around and practically jogged from the room, his face burning with humiliation. However, once he was halfway to the Great Hall and his embarrassment had somewhat dissipated, Harry's thoughts became fixated upon Snape's strange apology. As uncomfortable as their conversation had been, Harry found himself thinking that it'd been the most civil encounter he and Snape had ever had.

* * *

><p>As soon as he could no longer hear Potter's hurried footsteps echoing through the dungeon, Snape set his quill down and dropped the act of pretending to write. He exhaled heavily, his mind racing.<p>

It had been difficult enough for him to apologize to the boy; he was certainly not one to easily admit his wrongdoings. That he'd managed to form as civil an apology as he had was a small wonder. Of course, then Potter had to go and turn the simple affair into something more through the act of apologizing himself.

Typical Potter, Snape mused. Making the situation all about himself. However, this accusation was half-hearted at best, and settled like lead in Snape's stomach.

Suppressing a groan, Snape closed his eyes, rubbing his temples in an attempt to ward off the headache he felt approaching. He could still hear the boy's words echoing in his mind. What was this nonsense about Potter appreciating him? And for Merlin's sake, the child had actually apologized for being a _bother_. Snape snorted in incredulous disbelief.

And yet, even with his attempts to downplay the significance of what had just transpired, a single, recurring thought kept itself firmly rooted in Snape's mind—the speculation that James Potter would have never dared apologize to a Professor, especially for being bothersome. No, Potter and his minions were always above acts such as apology or self-reproach.

Snape swallowed against the sudden, sour taste in his mouth. No, to apologize as the boy had was much more resemblant of his mother. Beyond a doubt, this was something Lily would have done, and though he was loathe to admit it, the thought of this absolutely terrified Severus Snape.

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><p>Hope you enjoyed! Please, REVIEW AND FAVORITE! It helps other people find the story, and gives me motivation to write!<p> 


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